


Red Dead Revival

by Magisey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Allusions to Internment Camps, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Gambling, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Torture, Omnic Racism, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Racism, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Trans Hanzo Shimada, Trans Male Character, past transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 115,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magisey/pseuds/Magisey
Summary: Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada are tasked to look into potential Omnic Activity in the Southwest. In order to remain close and not draw suspicion during their investigation, they have a cover story: They're recently engaged. However, what should have been a quick mission goes horribly wrong. A mysterious lack of electricity in the area leaves them stranded and forces them to rely heavily on their training and one another to survive.





	1. Foreword

Hey all! Thanks for taking a look at this story. As pretentious as this might come off, I’ve decided to include a foreword to this fic. My intention is to make reading each chapter smoother. I will add trigger warnings for specific chapters in the notes, but I might miss some. If there is something you think should be added, please leave me a message!

The tags for this make it look like a horrific mess, but understand a lot happens and some tags do not carry through the whole work.

 **_If you are reading this from the RDR fandom_ ** : Marston plays a relatively large role, but the story never comes from his perspective. Please keep this in mind!

 

This project would not be possible without the help of my friends and family -

 **Chillie/Rach** \- We met through this event and I am so blessed to have you in my life. Thank you for all your help, your laughs, and your support. It has meant the world to me.

 **Amanda** \- We’ve been friends for ten years. You’ve seen me evolve as a writer and continue to encourage and help me. Thank you so much.

 **Zac** \- Another friend I met during the duration of the event, but a very dear one! Thank you for reading this, for checking my logic and giving me encouragement.

 **Mom** \- Thank you for looking over the first half of the story. It took a long time to develop and I cannot express how happy I am you took interest in what I love.

 

Thank you so much, all of you. I love you LOTS.

 

Now that my love fest is over, I’d like to thank the McHanzo Big Bang! I’ve never participated in one, but this has been a blast. I remember signing up for 25k words in August and thinking ‘Boy I hope I hit that’. Goodness gracious, I think I did. This has been an eight-month labor of love, and while it's not perfect, I hope it's enjoyable.

Thanks also to my partner artist, Mouse! You can check out their tumblr here.

 

**ART**

  * By Mouse: (I no longer know their tumblr) | [[1 & 2](https://superboverwatch.tumblr.com/post/172329334046/mousytm-mchanzo-big-bang-with-magisey)] [[3](https://superboverwatch.tumblr.com/post/172329677346/mousytm-mchanzo-big-bang-with-magisey)]



**LINKS**

  * Big Bang Tumblr [[x](http://mcbigbang.tumblr.com/)]
  * Big Bang Masterlist [[x](http://mcbigbang.tumblr.com/mcarchive)]
  * Chillie’s piece (check it out!) [[x](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914414/chapters/32023041)]



 

Comments and _constructive_ criticism is welcome. I worked very hard on this and would love some feedback!

Thanks guys, and I hope you enjoy!

 

Magisey | [[tumblr](https://superboverwatch.tumblr.com/)]


	2. Way Out West

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: panic attack

The long stretches of deserted land made Hanzo shudder. Hanamura had been small, quaint, but even then it was packed with life and people. Here, there seemed to be no life at all. Just dirty red sand that washed most of the cracked pavement below their hover-wheels away. If not for the seemingly small, but surprisingly deep swells of dunes, Hanzo was sure the horizon would appear endlessly before them. A few cacti grew here and there, but even they seemed to struggle in the arid wastes. Everything, even their little car speeding across the forbidding landscape, was swaddled in an overbearing sun.

_ This is surely hell. _

And yet his partner seemed ‘tickled pink’, as Jesse liked to say. The cowboy was grinning toothily like he had been drawn for some big lottery. The car’s radio was playing a plucked guitar tune while Jesse joyfully tapped his fleshy fingers on the wheel. It was the only hand on the wheel. Hanzo had given up asking hours before if the man would use both hands. After all, they were alone on the road. No one but them and this desert hell. Jesse’s other arm was halfway in and out of the window. Thankfully, the hardlight resistance kept the hot air out and their blissfully cool air in. Technology was marvelous; it contoured to the shape of his arm perfectly.

“How far along are we?” Hanzo reluctantly asked. There were no landmarks and barely any road. A few signs were here and there, but their colors were so faded they had to squint and guess based off of both the region and Jesse’s memory where they might be. It didn’t sit well.

Jesse shrugged and slid his arm in the car, wincing when the sun-kissed metal brushed his skin, “Phew, it’s a scorcher.”

“Yes, well you didn’t need to fry yourself to learn that.” The sky was so bright blue and endless, Hanzo got vertigo staring at it for too long. He felt trapped between two seas. Either he would be crushed by the falling water, or killed by being buried in the waves. To ease his anxiety, he kept his eyes on the vast nothingness of rolling sand.

“Shucks, sugar. I won’t peel. Honest.” It was an irritating truth. He wasn’t immune to a sunburn, but the skin recovered with lightning speed and only served to make the brown gunslinger darker. Tan suited Jesse, brought out the color of his eyes.  Hanzo was not so lucky. Too much sun made him burn and peel, though unlike other overwatch members, such as Angela or Lena, he could still tan a little. It was at a snail's pace, though, and kept Hanzo disinterested in tanning.

Instead of answering, Hanzo gave a noncommittal grunt and looked back out his passenger window. He was contemplating sleeping when a break in the sand dunes left the desert split wide open, going north and south across the land. There, far out near the horizon, Hanzo could see something. It shimmered and moved, and at the size, it was now it had to be huge. Fear seized him as he sat up, wishing he had Stormbow with him to launch an arrow at the target, “McCree what--”

Abruptly, the hard light of the car lost its shading. Both men jumped, a frustrated growl coming from McCree as he thumped the dash with his palm (a little too hard for a rental). Hanzo looked back at the distance, but the dunes returned to normal - Whatever had been there was gone. A mirage, most likely.

Without the shading, the heat in the car bumped up immediately. Hanzo felt his skin tug and pull as the sun started to coat it. “McCree, what happened?”

“Dunno, piece o’ shit! C’mon!” From the corner of his eye, he could see McCree poking at the touch screen that took up the center dash of the car, “Now I can’t even get the diagnostics running.”

“Perhaps we should turn the car off and on?” Some things, no matter how antiquated, simply worked.

“I would hate to. Gotta be 120 or hotter out there.”

That meant it was… 48? 49 celsius? That made Hanzo shudder again. No, stopping the car was perhaps the worst idea.

With a sickly chugging sound, the car began to jerk. Neither man had been wearing a seatbelt -- there was no way they could encounter anyone where they were traveling -- and so felt it safe. They both had to grab the dashboard and emergency handles to keep from launching their bodies at the abrupt loss of speed. “McCree!”

“Dunno! What the fuck is going on?” A few more chugs and then they stopped moving. 

The center console shifted from a digital odometer to a holographic cheery looking blue rabbit holding up a gas can.  _ “I’m sorry! You appear to be out of energy! Please refuel soon.” _

“No we ain't! We were topped off not far from here. Sides we got the damn solar panels.” The announcement paid an angry Jesse no mind, repeating the message once more.

“Is this possible?” It didn’t  _ seem _ possible. As Jesse said, they had rented the car and had insured it was well fueled before setting out. There were also no direct causes for the battery to drain that fast - no electrical discharges, no metal, no bodies of water or sudden rain… Even if that was relatively rare to cause such a discharge. 

_ “I’m looking for your station! Give me just a minute.”  _ A pause _ “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to find a network. I’m going to connect to the satellite. This may incur extra charges. Is that okay?” _ Jesse was comically muttering below his breath a colorful string of words that would have made the bunny blush - if it had ears. It did, but only for the word ‘yes’, which he had said somewhere in his rant. The image of the bunny changed; now it was holding a little antenna in one paw, holding it above its head and moving the antenna side to side. Instead of waiting to see what the car located, Jesse had whipped his own holoscreen phone out and was working on the multi-level unlock protocol when another piece of bad news came in.

_ “I’m sorry, I can’t find a satellite in the area. I am going to try again.” _ That wasn’t uncommon, Hanzo reasoned with his rising panic. Sometimes the satellites were out of their orbit, or down. Surely they’d be up soon.

“I can’t… Hanzo, I can’t get a signal either.” Jesse was wide-eyed, mouth parted as he stared at the holoscreen. Hanzo leaned closer to see a cactus wearing a cowboy hat stating there was no signal.

“Keep trying. I’m sure one will pass soon.” Hanzo pulled out his phone next. 

_ “I’m sorry, I can’t find a satellite in the area. I am going to try again.” _ Panic was rising in Hanzo, making him physically shut down. He could feel it in his fingers and toes, the cold rising up. His face went slack, resting on something devoid of emotion. A resting bitch face, Genji called it. Not wholly inaccurate.

“This isn’t right. I can’t… Sonnova.”

_ “I’m sorry, I can’t find a satellite in the area. I am going to try again.” _

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Jesse, on the other hand, seemed to be the perfect embodiment of quivering rage. The cowboy threw his hat at the dashboard and then scrambled out of the red serape that hung around his shoulders. He was panting with fury. A little hot, Hanzo thought as his eyes wandered the broad shoulders and soft abs. Very hot.

No. Actually extremely hot. Hissing, Hanzo jerked his hand away from where it had pressed flat against the hardlight window. Anything to dispel the cold. Hurting himself was a terrible habit formed in his youth to banish panic and dissociation. 

“Hanz, you okay? Here, lemme look.”

“Jesse, it’s fine it’s just --”  
“Nah, nah. Lemme see, lemme see.” Two big hands engulfed his one, flipping it this way and that to inspect the skin. “No damage.”

“Yes,” Hanzo ripped his hand back and settled it on his own knee. Every inch of his skin felt hyper-aware of where it had been touched,“I could have told you that.”

“Sorry. Been looking for an excuse to hold your hand,” Jesse singsonged, not an inch of remorse in his face. Oh, what Hanzo would give to wipe that smirk off his face with a well-placed punch. Still, they were going to be trapped together for hours and days, longer now that there was car trouble. It was better to play nice and keep from strangling the cowboy, “Didn’t realize it, but your hands are kinda rough. Real calloused fingers. Always figured you moisturized.”

No, scratch that. He was going to strangle the cowboy, but blame it on their enemies. Something in Hanzo’s face (probably the nasty scowl) set McCree into laughter. He grabbed his discarded hat and set it on his head before opening the door.

It was like opening an oven. Both cursed at the same time, Hanzo recoiling hard from the heat while Jesse pushed his arm in front of his face as if that would stop the pain.

“McCree! What are you doing? Get back in here.”

“No can do, sug’. Just gimme a few.” Hanzo gaped as his partner left him, walking around the side and to the back of the car. The trunk was popped and after a few moments of rustling, Hanzo could see it was one of their suitcases Jesse had gone for. The trunk was slammed shut and then the… suitcase was… opened? Had Jesse lost his mind?  
Hanzo reached for his door handle, but a muffled yell of ‘HEY!’ caught his attention. He jerked his head back to look at Mccree, for a second expecting some sort of scuffle. No, it was just Jesse holding his arms in a giant ‘x’ across his chest. Once he had Hanzo’s attention, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted again.

‘STAY IN. THE CAR.’ Even muffled it was loud. This man was an idiot. Hanzo looked confused and was still sorely tempted to grab the handle and get out of the car to... Well, he wasn’t sure. Lead Jesse back into the car? ‘JUST GIVE ME A FEW.’

“Stop yelling you moron!” Maybe he could say he strangled the cowboy in self-defense? It’d be easy to frame. Jesse going mad from the heat and Hanzo having to protect himself. Hanzo shook away the fantasies as he noticed that Jesse was pulling out thick pairs of jeans. He came to the back driver window and pointed at it. 

‘Roll… own.’

“Talk a little louder!”

‘Oh for fuck…’ Mccree huffed, looking to both sides at his imaginary audience, something that Hanzo was sure he meant for his and their ears only. Now, louder yet, ‘Roll down the window!’

“I will do no such thing! It’s already hot in here. We need to keep the cool air in.”

‘Hanzo stop it! Trust me on this.’ Trust him? The lunatic standing outside in the desert sun, holding a pair of ‘authentic American made Levi jeans’ (as Jesse always said they were)? Yes, of course Hanzo was going to just trust him. My, he was  _ oozing _ with trust. He leveled the cowboy with a withering glare, but it only served to exasperate McCree. Hanzo supposed there was little harm, and he could always roll it up quickly. Muttering to himself, he pressed the button down. Since the car was running on its emergency fuel, the hardlight window dissipated slowly, the particles floating away bit by bit.

‘That’s good, just a little more. Now I need you to Sto-’ “STOP. STOP HANZO STOP ROLLING IT DOWN.” Oh God, the heat and the voice sucker punched the archer in the gut, making him irritable. Hanzo stopped as requested and watched as McCree spread the jeans out and across the window, making sure some was hanging over the side that was in the car.

“Okay, roll it up.”

“You just - Fine. Fine!” And it was rolled up. Only then did Hanzo understand. Without the shading, the hardlight windows were letting in total sunlight. The jeans were acting as shading, probably even better than the hardlight windows could do, since the darkness, the clothes cast was deeper and cooler. “Oh.”

‘Yeah. OH. Now help me do the other four.’

It took a few minutes to get the other driver side window down as well as the sunscreen. That left Hanzo’s side. Jesse approached and opened the door, making him hiss. “What are you---?”

Jesse interrupted, “Roll down your window all the way.” Frustrated and more than a little done with his partner, Hanzo followed the direction. He watched as, instead of putting the jeans in the window, he stuck a t-shirt over the top of the door frame and motioned for Hanzo to sit back. Then, his door was closed. Baffled, he watched as McCree did the same for the door behind Hanzo too.” Once it was finished, Hanzo was left with little light other than what was coming from the dashboard as the bunny continued it’s miserable search for a satellite.

Jesse’s door swung open and again the oven blasted them, making Hanzo swear. His partner dropped into the seat and closed the door quickly. It was noticeably warmer in the car, but the temperature wasn’t rising as it had been before. McCree was panting, his blue gingham shirt clinging to his chest in sweaty patches. Taking off his hat, he started to fan himself vigorously.

“Phew, thanks, darling. Sorry for the shoutin’, just had to get that done.”

“Yes, well a little explanation would have gone a long way.” Jesse’s musky smell was making his nose wrinkle, “Can you stop fanning yourself? You smell like a gym sock.”

“Feel like one too.” Jesse flashed him a winning smile but was greeted with a familiar scowl. “Aw c’mon Grumpmada, lighten up.”

“Why did you do this?” He motioned to the t-shirt stuck in his door frame, covering the window. It was one of McCree’s red flannels, “Instead of the jeans?”

“Convection.” Jesse explained as he fiddled with the vent control. He set them to all open, “Hot air leaves the car, sucks in cool air under the car.”

“None of this is ‘cool’, McCree.” Hanzo hissed. Sweat stuck strings of black hair to his temples.

“‘Fraid not, but it’ll be cooler than being outside or sitting in this oven.”

_ “I’m sorry, I can’t find a satellite in the area. I am going to try again.” _

“Has it found one yet?” Hanzo’s silence was answer enough. Jesse grabbed his phone and started to play with it, both men sitting tensely. 

“Could the clothes… Could they be blocking some of the reception?” It was such a silly, ludicrous idea but it was all Hanzo had.

“Nah, sugar. Nothing like that.” Jesse put his phone down. The announcement continued to fill the dead air, each time adding more and more dread in Hanzo’s stomach, like sand filling an hourglass. They were far, far out from any city, with no connection to talk to anyone. No satellite, no emergency button or broadcast… Nothing. Hanzo ran a hand through his bangs as Jesse scratched at his scruff.

“Looks like I gotta go back out and see if I can’t figure out what’s happening. Maybe it’s an issue with the solar panels.”

“No, please. I will go out if we decide to do that.” 

“Sugar, that’s a real sweet thing to say, but you know I just can’t let you --”

“I am not a delicate flower, Jesse McCree. Or have you forgotten that?” McCree seemed startled at the accusation, but the shock settled into something that was uncomfortably close to tiredness.

Shaking his head slowly, Mccree sat up and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, “You wanna know the plan. Gotta tell you stuff.”

“Yes, that would be ideal.” Hanzo leaned back in his seat, both arms folded across his chest.

“I got no doubt y’could go out there and fix the car. You’re smarter and more skilled than I am. I got one thing on ya though.”

“There is no way your skin is going to make you immune to the heat, Jesse.” That earned him a pleasant little laugh.

“You goof, but that’s part of it. Truth is, this is my turf. My stomping ground. I grew up in and around these here deserts. I grew up in this heat, in this oblique landscape. Sure, no one wants to go and make a lake of sweat by their balls, but I reckon my natural heat immunity and skin give me a fair enough advantage that I should be the one looking to fix our problem. So, what do you say? That sound good to you?”

As much as Hanzo hated to say it, he just had to. “Yes. That sounds good,” he mumbled.

Then, he was alone and Jesse was outside, burning under the sun as he banged about on the car. It was probably even worse under the hood. With nothing to do but be overwhelmed with guilt, Hanzo started to explore the car. Sometimes rental agencies weren’t great at cleaning them out, or they intentionally left things in there like books and magazines. 

The glove box door was stuck. Frowning, he gave it a little tug, but it remained closed. “Is everything in this car broken? Open!” Hanzo gave it a harder jerk, the car moving with his motion. Finally, the glove box popped open. Inside, bolted in, was a little black box. To its left, a coiled cord connected it to a clunky looking handheld mic. Hanzo, having the upbringing he did, immediately knew what it was.

But why? Why was there a CB radio here in the car? And it was an old model, well used and loved. Delicately he took the microphone and pressed the button on its side. It still clicked and worked fine. It was real, not a hallucination of stress and heat. He flipped the power switch with his thumb and was unsurprised to find it power on immediately. Nothing was coming through or leaving, just dead silence.

Hanzo’s fingers immediately jumped to the SWR knob, the modulation, and the squelch - setting everything he needed to make the radio work. He trusted that it had been peaked, otherwise that would take more time. Where was the antenna? Was there one? Or was it built in? Hanzo’s heart began to pound, even as he tried to temper his excitement.

_ “I’m sorry, I can’t find a satellite in the area. I am going to try again.” _

Jesse returned, madder than a wet hen. He was soaked with sweat and panting, “We were fucking scammed! The damn thing runs on fossil fuel. It’s a hybrid. How long has it been since hybrids were phased out? Where did they get that motor? Haven’t seen any of those in yea -- what the hell is that?” His rant came to an abrupt halt, his rage swallowed as his eyes bugged from his head. 

“A CB radio.”

Jesse looked like he had been shot, the shock was written so clearly on his face it was nearly comical, “Wait, we’re in a scammed car? Stuck in the desert? With a CB radio? Sonnova… we’re trapped. This has got to be a trap.”

“Hush.” Hanzo commanded as he began to search the channels.

“How do you even know how to use these? They’re ancient.” It was true, they were. Hanzo knew because he had to. Because in a world where information was God, old modes of communication were like backdoors and secret passwords. Understanding how they functioned was like clicking into trivia that might save himself. If only his instructor could see him now. For a brief moment it brought a smile to Hanzo’s face, but… It left quickly. No. If he was seen now, he’d be dead.

“Channel Nine, Hanz.” Hanzo stopped, his fingers resting on the dial. McCree tilted his head towards the machine, “It’s the emergency broadcast. Try it.”

It was dead on Channel Nine, no conversation starting. Taking a deep breath, Hanzo pressed the button and started to speak, “This is an SOS. Is anyone there? I repeat, an SOS.” No response. Maybe it was hopeless? They would bake in the car, decompose here. A moving tomb. Hanzo sent out the message again. A third time. A fourth. He went to start the fifth when Jesse grabbed his hand.

“Stop, Hanzo.” Their hands slowly drifted down, down to the center between their seats. McCree’s hands were rough and warm, they fit together well. Neither bigger than the other, just different proportions. Jesse with a meaty palm and Hanzo with thin, piano fingers. Was the heat coming from Jesse’s sunkissed skin? Or perhaps the vibrant buzzing feeling coming from the back of his head, where Jesse was touching him. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get a satellite soon. Just… Y’just gotta trust me on this, okay?”

Trust. Some part of him, the part that was enjoying his hand being weighed down by McCree’s, wished to do just that. Trust him. Trust Jesse, trust that the universe would come through for them. 

Before it could settle in, to become a true feeling, the CB crackled.

“This is Sheriff John Marston. I read you. What is the issue?” Hanzo and Jesse snapped their focus back to the radio. Immediately, Hanzo was talking.

“Sheriff, we are stranded in the desert.”

Softly, almost a mutter, Jesse asked, “Did he just say, John Marston?”

“Any idea where you might be? Big desert.”

“I believe it is called the wastes?” Hanzo glanced at Jesse, who was staring pale and wild-eyed at the CB. Pulling the microphone from his mouth, he frowned at his partner, “Jesse, what’s the matter?”

“It’s a trap. Sonnovabitch, It’s a trap. Hanzo, shut it off. They might try and triangulate our position, fuck they prolly already know. Sugar, turn it off.”

“McCree, you’re making no sense. You need to explain things!” McCree only shook his head and was reaching for the microphone, for the off button. Maybe the heat really had addled his head.

“Jesse!”

“Shimada I told you to turn that damn thing off!” 

He grabbed the front of Jesse’s moist (ugh) gingham shirt, fisting it up so he could hold him back with a locked elbow. His other hand was as far as it could be from the cowboy. He twisted his body to block Jesse, who was scrambling and grabbing at anything he could find purchase on - Hanzo’s leg, his neck, the dash.

“McCree, you’re acting like an - Oof! Hey, hands off! Hands off!” One scrambling finger pushed against his lips and in a desperate act of self-defense, Hanzo nipped it. It was pulled away with an incredulous gasp, only to be joined now with two that were trying to pull at his lips. From around the fingers, Hanzo growled, “I swear I will bite your finger off. I could kill you in so many ways, Jesse McCree, do not tempt me any longer!”

“You’re gonna be dead if you don’t turn that damn thing off! This is serious, Hanzo. Goddamn it!”

“Boys, if you’re done fighting, I’d like to talk.” They stopped, no longer wrestling for the CB mic. Instead, they panted and watched the bolted in CB like it was a powerful bomb. Hanzo slowly lowered his arm, putting his body back to normal as Jesse’s hands retreated.

“How’d… How did he hear us? Is the car bugged?” Hanzo tried to ignore Jesse’s soft questions. It would only worsen the headache settling between his eyes. 

“Now, I got where your location is about, but I need something more specific. Hanzo, I’m guessing that’s who talked to me, let Jesse on.”

Without warning, the cowboy had snatched the microphone from Hanzo’s hand, the coiled cord stretched almost straight to accommodate the length, “The fuck you want, John? This a trap? You got this car bugged? That’s how you heard us fighting.”

“I was wondering the same as you, Jesse. Been a long time since I heard your voice. What’s it been… Twenty years almost? Jesus.”

“Yeah yeah, real long time. Why did you do this?”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions, Jesse. I didn’t do anything. Nor did I bug your car. I heard your fighting because someone pressed the button.” Oh. Yes, Hanzo remembered squeezing the microphone tight in case Mccree got his hands on his wrist or arm. Damn. “You guys are in trouble. Now, let me do my damn job and help you. Give me a landmark or two, something so I know where to start looking.”

Hanzo was still worried that Jesse was going to turn off the CB. He hadn’t settled down if anything the cowboy seemed even more disturbed and pale. His jaw clenched and unclenched, nostrils flaring before he hissed out, “The last one I saw was the Parted Sands. We’re about five miles east of it.”

“What? Why the fuck are you there? Jesse, stay put. I’ll get to you boys. As soon as I get there, we’ll hightail it back to Armadillo.”

“Sure. We didn’t leave the road, so should be easy to find us,” Jesse added. Silence buzzed over the line, and Hanzo figured that the conversation was done.

“Stay put. I’m leaving. Marston, over and out.” Well at least now it was done. Hanzo took the microphone from Jesse and put it back by the CB. Leaving it on was the best idea, especially if someone tried to contact them again. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, wishing for rest and reprieve from the heat; Yet questions continued to bubble up. Jesse had acted so hostile towards this John Marston. Why?

“So, who is Marston?” Silence again, and Hanzo was wondering if this conversation was also done. When Jesse continued to stare at the clothes hanging over their front shield, Hanzo quit waiting. There was sudoku loaded into his holoscreen, so it wasn’t like there was a void of entertainment. Anything to concentrate on would help ignore the heat.

Jesse heaved a sigh and scratched at his scruff, “He was in the Deadlock Gang with me. Serious son of a bitch, but a decent man. I’m pretty sure when he shows up there will be a fight. They only want me, so you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hanzo countered, shoulders seizing as he sat up straighter, his attention no longer on Sudoku but the deflated body sitting beside him, “We are partners, I must help you no matter what.” 

Jesse’s cheeks were dusted with color, but he said nothing. They prepared for a fight, Stormbow grabbed from the trunk, as well as his quiver. And so they waited for their rescue or ambush party to arrive.


	3. Rescue Party

Swindled and stuck in a car that was slowly turning into an oven. This was not how Jesse envisioned their first day of this mission going. He was sweaty and ached from banging around under the hood of the car, and now paranoid. Hanzo didn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. Bless his soul, the man said he’d try and fight with him. Hanzo was a whizz with a bow and arrow, but this was an ambush. They were bound to be outnumbered. 

Like hot taffy, time stretched out before them. Jesse tried to relax, to ease the tension in his shoulders, but nothing was working. John Marston was a decent man for a criminal. Moral to a degree, if you didn’t count murder. Jesse was about the same. Really, in the gang, John had been a big brother to him.  
But well, Jesse had someone in his passenger seat who could attest that even brothers would kill one another for the right reasons. It wasn’t fair to Hanzo to think that, but it was the truth. 

They were mostly silent, except half an hour or so into the wait, Hanzo suddenly spoke up. “Remember the cover story. We’re recently engaged fiances.”

“Right-o.” Recently engaged, taking a trip to see Jesse’s old stomping grounds. Sometimes, it felt like Overwatch had a real  _ shit _ sense of humor when it came to assignments.

It seemed like hours, but eventually the sound of someone shouting roused Jesse from a nap he was unaware he was taking. Sitting up rigidly, he eyed Hanzo, who despite insisting it wasn’t an ambush, was holding Stormbow in a white-knuckled death grip. 

‘Jesse! Hanzo? You in there?’

“He’s here.” Hanzo announced and Jesse was forced to fight back a giggle. Yes, indeed. John was here, his voice older and deeper, a little more rough about the edges. Grabbing his serape, Jesse slipped it over his head. It was an uncomfortable hot addition, but he made it lie across his gun and hand. 

One hand on the door handle, the other clenching and unclenching. He could hear Hanzo shifting, preparing to exit, “Play it cool. Let me talk to ‘im. If there’s some sort of ambush then you--”

“Will kill them all.” The cold smoothness of the line shouldn’t have made Jesse’s heart rate spike, but he was hardly in control of himself at the moment. With a nod, he opened the door and stepped out into the oven.

John was near the end of the car, still saddled on a red roan appaloosa with white blanket markings. Sheriff Marston’s hand openly settled on the butt of his gun, while the other was holding the lead to a larger horse beside him, a chestnut colored Morgan. “Jesse.”  
“John.” The door closed behind him and once again McCree was happy to have his trusty hat. The shade it cast over his eyes and face blocked so much of the harsh light it left him capable and looking without squinting at anything. 

“Hanzo,” said Hanzo. Humor wasn’t something he had expected of the archer, but neither was Hanzo promising to kill off an ambush. Full of surprises, that one.

“Hanzo. Glad you boys are still alive. Gladder yet you’re unharmed.” John seemed genuine, older, and was still holding the butt of his revolver. A trickle of sweat traced down Jesse’s neck, the tension thick enough to cut the air. John was always the quicker shot, the one who could pull faster. Jesse was the one with better aim, the one who could pull off the headshot while kind Marston went for hands and arms, seeking to debilitate and not murder. “Sure was surprised to hear you on the radio. Hardly anyone uses them anymore.”

Jesse hoped that if it came to a contest of gunslinging, Marston hadn’t changed that much.

“How long you figure we’ll be unharmed for, Sheriff?” His eyes pointedly glanced at the revolver the other man was holding. Marston only hummed at Jesse’s question. Would Marston go for Hanzo first? Kill the companion and even the odds of making it out alive? It left a weight in his gut, cold dread doing nothing to negate the oppressive heat.

The Sheriff shrugged and took his hand from the gun, “Can’t tell the future, but no harm’ll come from me. I didn’t come out this far to just shoot you.”

Jesse huffed, a snarl on his face, “Yeah? You sure about that? ‘Cause I think you set this future up.” Hand off or hand on, Marston was still dangerous. He’d seen the man waltz up into an armed hostage situation and take out all four bandits before they even blinked. 

Hanzo’s exasperated sigh broke McCree’s concentration, “McCree, you aren’t serious, are you? If this man wanted us dead, he could have left us to the elements.” Damn that man and his tactical mind. Jesse didn’t want to back down, didn’t want to get Hanzo killed, but he had a point. Letting them die in the sun would be a cleaner, easier kill than coming all the way here to do the job.

John laughed, the sound like sandpaper on Jesse’s skin, before saying, “Glad someone has given him a bit of perspective. Now, I could only wrangle one horse, but she’s kind and will gladly carry you two. I’ll take your belongings. We need to get a move on.”

They packed the clothes from the car back into their suitcases. Jesse saw to getting them attached to either side of John’s mare. Neither man had packed heavily, which was a relief for the Sheriff’s horse. Their emergency water, however, was going to have to stay put. Jesse grabbed two bottles from the back of the car, tucking them below his arm before giving the trunk a swift shut. 

“Jesse, would you mind helping me?” Hanzo had been quiet during the time he and John had worked to get things squared away. It appeared that during that time, Hanzo had gotten situated on the horse. Since when did he ride? Did he always know? Just how many more surprises did this man have in store for him?

“Sure, sugar. What seems to be your problem? Looks like you got up there just fine.”

Hanzo nodded and reached down to roll one of his pant legs up. Jesse had seen his partner’s prosthetics before, the sleek metal was durable and well done. Something that had cost an arm and a leg (excuse the pun). It came up right below his knee, “Please help me detach these.”

“I beg your pardon?” 

Color climbed up the archers cheeks as he tried to scowl at Jesse, “In riding double, the person who is lighter should ride in the back. If I have my prosthetics removed, I am much lighter.”

Mccree scratched at his neck. That meant Hanzo would be pressed against him, riding tight up against his back and ass. It sounded dirty in his head. There was little arguing with the logic, and the way that Hanzo was trying to freeze him with a humorless glare despite the sweltering heat said there was no room for negotiation. Sighing, he nodded and moved to Hanzo, his fingers working around the back of his knee. Prior to the mission, the two had discussed any mobility issues they could have, including how to equip and unequip one another's prosthetics. There were two small divots on the back of Hanzo’s legs that when pressed popped and set off a series of internal gears and latches. The leg slid off smoothly, leaving only a metal cap where his leg should be.

“John, think your ol’ gal can handle a little more weight?” Marston made an affirmative grunt and so Jesse worked on the second of Hanzo’s legs, then carried both to the mare. With a length of rope, he carefully tied them to her rump, ensuring that they wouldn’t fall off.

Jesse mounted next. It required Hanzo to scoot to the back of the saddle, to avoid getting a boot to the face, and required Jesse to be careful with his limbs, but it was done. He slid into position comfortably, no roundhouse kick injuries present. Hanzo pulled himself forward, and McCree felt a strong chest and stronger arms wrap around his center.  _ Not an inch of flab there _ . A familiar rise of heat curled in his stomach, his heart rate ramping up. “You sure about this, Hanz? You ever--”

“Rode double? Yes. Plenty of times as a boy.”

“Part of your training?” Jesse filled the idle moments they took to become comfortable on the morgan, and for the morgan to get comfortable with them, with casual conversation. It was especially important that they make sure the old mare was willing to carry their weight. Other than giving a faint sniff, it seemed like she was perfectly happy. A good horse. John had a knack for breaking and riding the best horses. 

“Partially. I learned all forms of horseback, including how to ride double. Though, that was mostly for fun.” Fun, huh? Jesse grabbed the reins with both hands and nodded to John, who started them off. The speed was slow, probably for both their accounts and the horse they rode. 

It felt nicer up on the horse, as if the higher advantage gave them some wind, as well as the slow pace moving the air around. Jesse could feel Hanzo sweat against his back. Taking one hand off the reins, he turned just enough to plop his hat on top of Hanzo’s head.

“What is this for?”

“If you’re gonna be the one taking the harder riding position, you should be allowed the shade. Sides, nothing worse than having a sweaty back.” Jesse only got a snort, but he was certain a little smile had been twinkling right there on Hanzo’s lips, “You’re welcome, sugar.”

“I did not say thank you.”

“Nah, but your smile did.” A big grin split his face as his riding partner harrumphed.

“A heat mirage.” 

_Sure sure_ , Jesse thought with a chuckle. The good feeling of home came back. Horses and heat and the familiar view from a comfortable vantage point made Jesse feel good. Sure, he’d feel even better if they were roaring down the broken highway in their air conditioned rig, but this was nice.

“Not to interrupt, but how do you boys know one another?” Marston’s eyebrow was raised, clearly examining how Hanzo was wrapped against Jesse’s back. Immediately his throat went dry. It was easy, back in the larger cities, to not care so much. Here, face to face with a man who knew him, knew his past so well, it felt odd. Unsafe? 

“We are partners.” Hanzo supplied succinctly. Oh good lord. There was no doubt Hanzo knew what that word could mean. Flushing dark scarlet, he tried to force a laugh out, but his throat would not allow it.

“Partners? Didn’t think Jesse swung that way. So why’re you two here?”

“Yes,” Hanzo responded, unfretted by Jesse, who still couldn’t seem to string words together, “It was a relatively surprising turn of events for him too. I pursued him.” There was an undeniable smile in those words. C’mon now, first he was outed to an old friend, and then told he hadn’t the balls to pursue Hanzo first? Cripes, Hanzo was getting back ten fold for what had happened earlier.

Hanzo continued, “Jesse wanted to show me where he grew up. We’ve already been to my home country many times.” 

_ Not for pleasure, that was for sure _ . Talon had its roots deep in Hanamura. Briefly, he wondered if they could one day go back for pleasure. Maybe they could view those cherry blossoms. Genji liked to chat about them all the time, but he always insisted that it was more Hanzo’s ‘aesthetic’. There was also New Years, and that might be a fun adventure to experience with the two brothers. From everything Jesse had learned, New Year's to them was like Christmas in the States. Family, fun, food… Good times.

Marston hummed a quiet tone and mulled over the information, “I see. Find that surprising, considering how he left his home. You know what Jesse did in the past?”

Finally, the cork in his throat was removed, Jesse snapping his attention to John, “Hey, Johnny boy. Let’s not bring up the dead and gone past. Hanzo don’t need to know about that.”

If only they weren’t on horseback. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off John’s face with his fist. John shook his head and looked forward again, that grin still stuck there, “Sure, sure. Didn’t know you had grown some shame, Jes. But you do owe me some explanations. Mainly, where the hell you went after we were thrown in prison.”

Right. The sting that had caught the Deadlock Gang off guard had also been the point both men were arrested. They were both sentenced, ten years at federal, but Jesse never stepped foot there. That night he left the prison in the company of Gabriel Reyes and was immediately inducted into Blackwatch. “I was picked up. Some government agency came in and said they wanted me.”

All the old guilt came back. John had a kid and a wife. John was a good man, with skills that surpassed even Jesse’s own. But John had his moral. He was, in many respects, kind. Jesse was not. Reyes only needed to see him perform a few headshots at long distance to know he had picked the right man. Sheriff fit John, a man to dole out the law and keep things together. Jesse was, and only could be, a merc. Hired gun, shoot to kill.

John’s words cut through the self pity like a hot knife to butter, “Spent five in there. Then they let me out if I helped to wrangle up the Deadlocks, bring them to justice. Seemed a fine deal at first, but…” John sighed and scratched at his beard, “Didn’t last long. There’s been a lot of fighting and infighting down here. I’m surprised you were willing to risk coming. Guess the rumor that they started up the media blackout again was right.”

“Media blackout?” Hanzo questioned and Jesse felt the arms around his center tighten. Something possessive and hot coiled in his stomach. Maybe Jesse was a bit touch starved. Maybe it was something else. He decided to not dwell on that for long.

“The United States decided it couldn’t let itself appear weak, so they put a big media and journalist blackout on our own omnic uprising.” Jesse answered. “So our war was swept under the rug. Most of what we’re going through right now was the southwestern US. Cali, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and even northern Mexico.”

“How…” Bless him, Hanzo sounded shocked. It was shocking, to learn that a government was willing to push all their bad news under the rug just to keep meddlesome things like Overwatch and foreign attention out. It was part of the reason Jesse had such a hard time trusting Gabe, trusting Jack. US military boys, fed the same propaganda lies that had fucked over their home.

Marston picked up the next line in the story, “Bombs. Atomic bombs. They thought wiping out all the omnics at once would destroy the God program. Instead, it left us with these waste lands.”

“As horrible as it was, it worked.” Jesse had been born near the end, but his youngest memories were of curling up in bombing shelters, swaddled against his mother while dust and dirt rained down on their head in a fine mist. 

“Least that’s what we thought,” Marston added, which forced both men to look at him. Tension coiled in Jesse’s back as he stared at his old friend.

“What do you mean?” Hanzo was good at asking the questions that needed to be asked. Smart man.

“Rumor has it there are still omnics around. We’ve got a lot of reports of odd attacks at far flung homesteads. Nothing stolen, but people slaughtered. Filled full of bullets and ripped apart. Some of the cities are holing up, shoring their old walls in preparation for the worst.”   
Jesse cursed under his breath, wishing they could just get in a car and leave. This was all they had needed, some sort of proof that there was another uprising happening here. How did they get out? The car they had rented ran off a mix of fossil fuel and clean energy, and fossil was nigh impossible to find anymore. Jesse hissed through his teeth, knuckles whitening around the reigns.

“Then I suppose we should leave the area. The car won’t work, obviously. Is there someone we can call or a place in Armadillo that rents cars?” Hanzo expressed his thoughts, and Jesse was grateful. All the talk of the past had his mind roaming around old memories of the war, trapped in time and worry. It made plotting their immediate future something Jesse wasn’t equipped to handle.

“You boys really don’t know?” Glancing at John only made the dread Jesse was feeling stronger, heavier. John’s eyes were wide, eyebrows raised high as he looked from both their faces, “Shit. No wonder you were out here and in that sort of car.”

Hanzo made a sound, as if he was about to ask, but Jesse silenced him by squeezing his hand. It looked, by the way his old friend’s features scrunched up, that he was thinking, “Not the time to be talking about this. Let’s get back to Armadillo and then we can travel to my place. We can figure out how to keep you boys safe there.”

“You sure that’s okay?” Jesse scratched at his cheek, frown lines in his forehead forming, “I mean, you got Abby and your little girl. Never did learn her name. Shoot, she’s ‘bout twenty now?”

Marston was quiet and Jesse had to wonder if he didn’t just step in a land mine. Something happen to them? To Abby? Abby was… it would be hard to imagine John without Abby. That was like a summer without sun. They went together, hand in hand. 

“She never got a name. A fever took her when I was in prison.” 

“Jesus, John. I’m sorry.” But Marston didn't seem bothered. It had been a wound that was cleaned and sutured, nothing festering below. The old cowboy shook his head and their conversation fell silent, the silence between them broken only by Hanzo asking a question or two about the local fauna.

 

\----

 

Armadillo hadn’t changed much. It still held a desperately fading facade of the old wild west. A saloon with actual swinging doors, all buildings two story, with carefully crafted signs hanging from poles or in windows offering ammunition and apothecary needs. Nostalgia washed over Jesse. The smell of heated dirt hung over everything. There was the soft and steady sound of voices, growing louder as the sun was settling into its final descent. Gentle winds and the rustle of a sagebrush. 

But something was off, something so bone deep that he couldn’t help but shift on their steed. The roads in town were old, never one for the new hover cars with their advanced wheels. They were outlawed years ago, right around the time Jesse was eight. The roads were simply too dusty, and all the mess those hovering vehicles kicked up was hefty. Still, most folks had other hovertech, like wheelbarrows or carts. 

But there was nothing like that here. No hover anything. No cars on the outskirts of town, begging to be driven off to homesteads and cabins. It hit him at once, a revelation that made Jesse dizzy and uncomfortable.

There were no hardlight windows. All the windows in town were replaced with sheets of glass. Actual doors, not the hardlight passable ones, stood in most places. Why? Hardlight was reliable, wouldn’t shatter, and generally kept heat and cold in or out better than the crappy panes they had installed. 

Riding horses, CB radios being used, and now the loss of hardlight? 

“I take it Armadillo is a tourist town?” Hanzo asked, breaking their long silence.

To his credit, the sheriff didn’t flinch, only hummed softly, “No. Armadillo was a commerce area. Not big, but still a hub. What you’re seeing now is no more than a byproduct of necessity.”

“Now what would make you need glass panes and wooden doors?” Jesse couldn’t help but add to their conversation. Nothing made sense, and Jesse felt lost between an old world and the new. His past was burnt and pressed into so many of the boards of these buildings, their grain soaked full of memory. It all called out, distant ghosts from a long dead life. Tech back then had been different, the restrictions too. He knew coming here would be tough, maybe even cause some bad memories, but what Jesse felt now was more like a time paradox. Felt like somewhere between yesterday and today, Armadillo and the whole region just got… stopped.

“House is about thirty minute ride from here. Guess I can start to explain some things to you. Let’s see.” Jesse braced himself for the story, for the new information.

Nothing could have prepared him.

“Electronics go on the fritz, especially hover and hardlight tech. Cars are basically out. All across the wastes, deserts, and even into the tropical areas that tech just fizzles out and dies. Been like that for over two months.”

“Why?” Hanzo croaked softly from behind Jesse, and the cowboy wished with every fiber of his being he could comfort him. “How could this happen?”

“Dunno. We’ve called for help, wrote in and pleaded, but this area has had that good old media blackout stranglehold.”

A strange lump formed in Jesse’s throat, his body tensing and stomach plummeting, “The satellites. That's why… We couldn’t get one. They pulled the sats from the area.” Marston only hummed in agreement, his jaw set tight.

“Some of the smarter folk thinks it’s a long term EMP. Something that’s subtly messing with radio or electric frequencies. Goes right over my head.” It was Jesse’s turn to hum in sympathy, his mind so filled with questions and problems that the thought of speaking was too herculean of a task.

“How will we get out?” Hanzo whispered against his back. If they hadn’t been sitting so close, it surely would have gone unheard. The hand around his middle tightened, fingers pressing into his chest, echoing the ache that had settled there. Hanzo was a strong man, but this was looking less like a detour and more like a catastrophe every second. Absentmindedly, Jesse covered the hand with his own. 

Marston was quiet and so they rode in silence. Their mare was exchanged in Armadillo for another stronger horse, Marston worrying that the heat and weight would be too much from their first ride. In that dour quiet they left the sleepy desert town, heading on trails to the east. Just when Jesse had relegated all conversation to end, the Sheriff spoke.

“We can discuss how to get you out of here after dinner. Jack is smart as a whip, he might have some ideas himself. Abby too. He got those brains from someone.” Marston paused, brow furrowing. Grunting softly, he continued, “Guess y’never met Jack, didja, Jes? He’s my son. Goin’ on thirteen.”

“Congrats.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears. Abby. Right, they were going to Marston’s house where Abby would be. Of course. Jesse felt an odd tug at his heartstrings followed by dread. Would Marston accept that Jesse had someone (even if it was fake) in his life and not question him? Would it be a mess of trouble, with jealousy floating in the air? Abby was such a hairpin trigger topic, even back in the day. Back when John was just smitten and hadn’t given her the ring. 

“She’ll be happy to see you. You were always special to her, Jes.” Marston seemed to have a second sense for these things. Or maybe it was just how tense Jesse was on the horse, his jaw working on unsaid words.

“I won’t,” Jesse’s voice broke. Taking in a deep gulp of air, he centered himself and started again, “I won’t do nothin’ stupid, John. I’m not that kind of man. You taught me that.” To Jesse’s delight, their companion began to chuckle.

“Of course you would not. You have me.” Hanzo’s smug voice carried in the air, stilling them all. Jesse’s laugh was rough, filled with exhaustion and cigar smoke. There was something so welcome and warming about being  _ claimed _ by someone. Even if it was a charade, it left Jesse with a foreign feeling of appreciation.

“Damn straight!” He declared, grin bigger and wider than the brim of his hat.

“Mm, I believe that is the opposite of what we are,” Hanzo’s quip was soft, but loud enough that Jesse caught it. Another bright laugh carried out of him, pushing away the mental fatigue and nervousness like an open window could shoo out a fly.

Even with the seemingly light-hearted banter and laughter, there was still so much against them.

_ No hover, no hard light, not sats. A gang that wanted me dead. And Abby Marston. _


	4. Jack of All Trades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: past child abuse

It was surprising to find a river, not twenty minutes from the hot strip of land that their car had broken down on, and it was even odder to learn that years ago all this land had been beautifully lush and green. Well, as green as sageland could become. Hanzo wished he could see it, but from how Jesse and John spoke, those were times from long, long ago. Before the omnic crisis. 

The crisis had not been kind to the land, not in the way large swaths were covered in gouges as tall as a man and as wide as three lying down. Not in the way huge valleys were burnt black by fire, razed to the ground. Not in the way that both John and Jesse looked stunned, taken aback by the sight of a flower long since thought extinct, growing stubbornly in a dry creek bed. Not in the way dead bodies of broken machines sometimes poked skeletally out of sandy drifts. It made Hanzo shudder and hold onto Jesse just a bit tighter. With the lack of rain, most of the robots looked preserved. As if, any second, they would finish crawling out of the sand and riddle horse and rider full of lead. 

“Never seen this before?” John tipped his hat up, glancing at Hanzo. There was no judgement in his tone, but still he bristled. As if a Shimada had ever been  _ coddled _ . “I thought most of Asia was wrecked by these devils.”

“Most, but not all,” Hanzo corrected, eager to lay the misconception to rest, “Yes, I have seen this, but never so… So…”

“Raw.” Jesse supplied the word; It fit the hard, tired edge of his voice to a tee. 

“Raw,” Hanzo agreed. No, the destruction in Japan was not as honest as this, not left as it was, as it had been for decades.

“Tokyo was one of the first to fall to the God program, right?” Surprising, Hanzo wasn’t aware Jesse cared for history.

“You are correct.  _ Kami-sama. _ ” His voice dripped with acidity, feeling a wave of disgust wash over his frame. Decades of children would grow up believing God was a machine that wanted to kill them. Hanzo was still unsure if it was a cruel or accurate. “Tokyo had been considered a modern mecha, hosting and owning more omnics than any other city at that time. When  _ Kami-sama _ activated, the city was leveled. No one survived.”

John whistled slowly and Hanzo was pleased to leave the conversation where it was. Tokyo out, the Japanese crisis had marched, only stopped by the same indomitable will that had been too eager to rely on the machines and not their fellow man. Every student knew about the crises, about the program to stop it. The various skirmishes and battles that raged. Tokyo had been changed, morphed into an international site of peace and prosperity, with memorials and gardens everywhere. Educational facilities abounded, teaching young and old about the war that changed the world. When Hanzo still had a toe in the political world, there were rumors that omnics were going to be hired to give tours. 

Some things never changed.

Shaking his head, Hanzo tried to focus on something else, and realized a question that had been bothering him, “John? I understand the use of horses; Cars won’t work. Why are we not using roads?”

“Well, for a time they worked off and on. Most’ve the roads are choked full of dead cars, stalled and left behind.” 

That would make travel much more difficult.

The rest of their ride was spent in casual conversation, and much to Hanzo’s relief it stayed between John and Jesse. By the time they reached Beacher’s Hope, dusky reds and bruise deep purples were coloring the sky. Dusk had settled in comfortably, relieving the heat from duty. Sweat began to cool upon his shoulders, tingling relief up his shoulders. Jesse seemed to also relax.

“Let’s get the horses put away,” John murmured. Ah, right. Dismounting. Hanzo watched as John got down and then Jesse, leaving only himself still mounted. A pang of irritation and discomfort welled in his stomach.  _ Coddled _ . 

Jesse’s soft, smooth voice cut into his thoughts, “Don’t worry. I’ll help get your legs all squared up.” Really coddled. Hanzo only grunted in agreement, his eyes cast down on the mane of the horse. 

The large barn had a thick musty smell that threatened to choke Hanzo as if he were trying to drink a horse hoof and all. It was earthy and pungent in a way he was unfamiliar with. A sizable loft full of hay allowed in trickles of sunlight. Either side of the large lane in the center of the barn was parceled out to little pens. Everything seemed muted to Hanzo’s eyes, hazy and filled with the cloying scent of nature. It wasn’t something he wanted to experience much more, the brief coolness of the barn being overwhelmed by the scent of hot hide.

John went about his business, taking off the gear and then giving his mare a good brush down. To his irritation, Jesse waited until John was done to snap up his prosthetics, whittling away time to chat idly with the other cowboy. Hanzo bit his lip, knuckles white. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be waited upon, Jesse McCree was going to make the agony no longer.

It wasn’t until John left the barn that Jesse approached the horse. Part of Hanzo wanted to act like it didn’t matter. Such a trifling thing, it was below him. But before he could school his expression, the venom was unleashed.

“I see you weren’t planning on me staying on this dumb horse all night?”

Jesse stepped short, eyes narrowing, “Beg yer pardon, but I have no clue what yer talkin’ ‘bout.”

Maybe it was the heat or the scent or the way Hanzo felt he was suffocating on thick air, but his mouth refused to stop, “You don’t? But you just let me sit here uselessly while chatting with your friend. Defenseless.” 

A slow opened look crossed Jesse’s face like a whip cracked across the sky. Whatever temper was there before cooled, “Hanz, I didn’t leave ya hangin’ for fun. I… Prosthetics hurt. I figured y’wouldn’t wanna well… Be in that much pain ‘round a stranger.”

Oh. Hanzo stopped short, blinking owlishly at the charming cowboy. That… made some sense. Cowed into silence for his outburst, Hanzo simply nodded. It did hurt. A lot. Like fire lacing up his leg and pushing in deep. Like hot irons being stabbed through his thighs and knee. Like fingers scratching down his flesh, peeling it away. And it had to be done twice.

By the time the second leg was fully connected, the sun had crashed further into the horizon, the dusky colors becoming dark purples and royal blues, the first stars peeking out in the sky. Hanzo, to his credit, didn’t shove away Jesse’s hand as he dismounted. He grabbed it tightly, allowing the stronger cowboy to take some of the wobby weight off his ankles. 

“Woah, woah sug. You all right? Lookin’ like you might fall over.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hanzo lied with ease, hiding the pain and discomfort from view and out of his voice. Jesse hummed but said no more, perhaps because he could see through the whole ruse, “It takes a few moments to bear my weight.”

Jesse’s response was a soft hum and a hand on Hanzo’s back pressing him closer. An undignified yelp flew out of him before he could stop it. As if they hadn’t been close enough during the long ride, now they were practically embraced in some dirty barn in the middle of nowhere. A hot, smelly, dirty barn. Thankfully, with his nose mashed into the cowboy’s plaid shirt, the scent was cut down. It was, however, replaced with a musk.

“McCree,” Hanzo gulped, squirming in the hold. Still, he made no real attempt to break from it. Pulling away meant no more support and the flash fire of pain was still tearing across his nerves as his body adjusted to hold its own weight once more. “What are you doing?”

“Well…” Oh, there was a grin in that voice. Hanzo could imagine the mischievous brown eyes glinting in the dim and fading light as Jesse drawled slow and thick, “Figured if we’re doin’ the whole lover thing y’might wanna get used t’me holdin’ you close.”

“You,” Hanzo huffed and pushed a palm against the center of Jesse’s chest. It loosened a chuckle from the cowboy, “are insufferable. We should get into the house before Marston assumes we got lost out here.”

Now that he wasn’t pressed tight to Jesse’s chest, he could see that shit eating grin perfectly. “Considerin’ how sweaty we are, I’d wager they would think somethin’ else was goin’ on.”

Hanzo gave another shove, turning on heel and stalking away from his idiot partner. A burst of infectious laughter erupted from McCree, and while he would never admit it, a tiny smile twitched on his lips. 

By the time he was at the stairs leading to the porch, Jesse had caught up. Without asking, a strong arm wrapped around the center of his back, giving Hanzo the support to walk up the stairs. A relief, considering that, at the moment, the prosthetics felt like floating appendages rather than legs. It was only dysphoria, something that would pass in an hour or so, but it did not make it any easier.

Instead of focusing on the uneasy sensation and letting it consume him, Hanzo observed the Marston’s home. It was… nice; in a way that felt homey and rustic. A sort of place that fit McCree and his ridiculous cowboy get-up to a tee. Rough spun wood that creaked below one's feet, real wooden shingles, thick sturdy door, and actual glass pane windows. Not hardlight, real glass. An anachronism, just like the cowboy. Like the horses and barn.

Inside the home was just as warm and welcoming. A few doors to the right, one to the left. A simple hallway, with only a painting of a sunset over a field. They walked further in, and came to a simple opening, a large fireplace, swept clean and surrounded by plush looking furniture and a tattered red rug. To the right, there was a large dining table with a group of chairs, a vase of wildflowers adorning the center. Nearby was another door, open, and from it came the loud voices of Marston and a woman.

“Now I know you ain’t serious. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of Jes in years! You tellin’ me you just happened to find him broken down in the desert and brought him here?” Jesse flinched and recoiled at the caustic tone the speaker was taking. Would it be inappropriate to touch his back and offer some semblance of comfort? They were pretending to be lovers, to be engaged. It was not out of the realm of normal. Still, his hand stalled, uncertainty stealing the moment.

“Abby, I ain’t one to lie. If you don’t believe me, go look yourself.” Hanzo shifted uneasily; standing around and eavesdropping was not the best first impression. Before he could suggest they leave, a woman, presumably Abby, walked through the door. She wore a thin cotton dress of royal blue, a white apron over top. Her features were sharp while her brown hair mound into a bun on the back of her head was soft.

Hanzo watched as she stopped walking, eyes snapping wide. Jesse shifted from foot to foot, taking the hat from his head and holding it over his chest, “Howdy, Abby. Been a while.”

“A while? A while!” The distance between the two was bridged as Mrs. Marston slapped Jesse on the arm playfully, “Awhile, he says. Jesse, it’s been twenty damn years! We thought you was dead!”

McCree’s smile was sheepish as he scratched at the back of his head, “Sure am sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean it bad. Just been a lil bit busy is all. You’ve done good, both of ya have.” 

If the floor could open and suck him down, Hanzo could not have been happier. Listening to the two reconnect left him feeling adrift, an interloper into a private world.  _ They can tell, _ said a voice in the back of his head,  _ You don’t belong here. You aren’t who you seem. You are -- _

“Lemme introduce you t’my partner and fiance, Hanzo.” He yelped as Jesse wrapped an arm around his hips and brought them closer together. Abby went from jovial to scrutinizing, her eyes sharp as she looked him over. “Now, don’ be like that Abbs. He’s a good man, best damn shot I’ve ever seen. Shoot, seeing him on the archery range gets me mighty flustered.”

Playing for an audience. It was all just play. Heat blotted at his cheeks, embarrassed by the sudden praise and closeness. Hanzo took a steady breath and gave the best, polite smile he could to the woman, “Hanzo Shimada, at your service.”

“John said you had a man. I’m still stunned. Didn’t know you liked fellas, Jesse,” Abby flashed a glance at the other man, something unreadable in her expression. “Well, I need to fix dinner. Hanzo, are you any good in the kitchen? Jesse can’t make anything that isn’t hotter than lava.”

“Hey!” His guffaw was good natured. Hanzo’s side felt cold when the arm was retracted and the cowboy took a step away. “Least I can cook. You couldn’t even boil water without it burnin’.”

“Well I’ll have you know I was given  _ lessons _ ,” Abby replied with a smug smile, nose lifted in the air with fists on her hips. It was so playful and filled with easy camaraderie, something that Hanzo was frankly unfamiliar with. Jesse McCree seemed to collect friends like a black shirt collected cat hair - everywhere, easily, and forever kept. Twenty years, and already they were teasing one another. 

Ten years and when he saw his brother next, it had been after his sword was withdrawn from his neck. Hanzo swallowed thickly and pushed away the black thoughts. Jesse hadn’t tried to maim or kill Abigail. That had a lot to do with how their relationship blossomed.

“Yes, I can cook. I agree with you, Jesse’s food is very spicy.” The man in question squawked, hand covering his heart as if he’d been shot. Hanzo’s smile turned into a full grin, “It would be a pleasure to help you, Miss Marston.”

“All right then! Jesse, go help John with the animals. Jack should be out there somewhere. We’ll call you boys in when it’s all done.” Abby turned and walked into the kitchen. Hanzo was about to follow when a cool metal hand grabbed his wrist. Something odd flashed across Jesse’s face, something that made Hanzo still.

He watched as Jesse took a breath as if he were about to plunge below the water. “My life… All that was… It’s… You don’t gotta let it hurt you.” Clearly the cowboy was struggling against a tide of emotions. They pushed emotion after emotion across his face, twisting his features this way and that.

“The past,” Hanzo’s hand wrapped around the metal fingers on his wrist, carefully pulling them away, “is the past.” They both had things worth looking guilty over, worth feeling ashamed of. Jesse knew of his greatest mistake, but not the countless others that littered his growing years. He had no idea the blood and tears of others that had spilled freely from his hands. If Hanzo could, he’d keep it that way. Thankfully, that seemed to satisfy Jesse who simply nodded. After a moment of hesitation, where he was unsure of the cowboy would say more, he turned and left.

Abigail was quickly working in the small kitchen, mixing something in a large steel bowl. A cutting board and very sharp knife sat on a counter not far from her, with a smattering of veggies. “There ya are. Can you cut veggies? I gotta work on this damn crust or it won’t be ready for the fillin’. Chicken is already boilin’ away.”

“Of course.” The veggies were washed, though the carrots were unpeeled. Pressing a thumb against the blade with the feather softest of touches told him it was as sharp as it looked. Pleased, he carefully began to peel them. They worked in silence, or near enough. Abigail continued to curse softly, shooting dirty looks at whatever she was making. Sometimes, Hanzo knew, that was the only way to get food to cooperate. Or perhaps she, like he, had no patience when it came to cooking.

Hanzo was halfway through chopping when Abby spoke, nearly startling him, “So… I gotta say, never did see Jes as the settlin’ type. Guess we all grow up, hmm? Tell me ‘bout your life, Hand-so.” He inwardly flinched at the mispronunciation but made no effort to correct it. It would be impossible at the moment, regardless, with the dread that was filling him swiftly like a ship taking on water. He was sinking. It was always the same, a never-ending story: meet someone, tell them his past, earn a new enemy.

“Hand-so? You alright there, darlin’?” A hand on his shoulder made him jolt. He took huge gulps of air as he escaped the wreckage of his mind. “Listen, Jess and all of us, our pasts aren’t so good. We sure as hell ain’t saints. But I can see how he is around ya. He likes ya. You gotta be special.”

Likes him. Undercover. A fake relationship. All the facts trickled back into Hanzo’s memory.  _ You don’t gotta let it hurt you. _ Jesse’s statement had seemed odd then, so unlike the chatty cowboy to become tongue-tied. Perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps there were things that, said in front of Abigail, would tip them off to something else going on. “No, it is fine I simply was getting lost in memories. I…”

_ You don’t gotta let it hurt you. _

Oh.

The realization crashed into him: At that moment he could be anything. Anyone. His life was his own to mold, to shape within his hands. He’d done it a thousand times before when constructing aliases and fake passports when infiltrating security controlled points for hits and contracts. Yet this time, he could take the broken history of his past and use it for something  _ good. _ Hanzo had the chance to be a good man. As he looked out the kitchen window at the cooling darkness, he picked through the ashes of memories, through the childhood spent enduring endless duties, and allowed himself to dream, to reconfigure.

“We were a small family. Mostly it was just me, my younger brother, and my mother.” A hall of grand splendor turned into a small living room, two brothers curled up close as they ate snacks and laughed at a story their mother told. Instead of the large, cold spaces, filled with regal furniture, there were walls adorned with family portraits and knickknacks from family vacations.

“My father,”  _ was a cruel man, strong and unwilling to bend. _ He ruled them all with an iron fist, the first and last word of the Shimada. A patriarch to end all patriarchs. He always wore a severe expression, always eager to pull apart any flaw. Hanzo carefully clipped out the good parts, the memories of praise and smiles, as few as there were and grafted together stories of other fathers from media and conversations. The good ones, who would not hit a child for their curiosity, who would not burn their books or humiliate them unjustly. “He was a working man. He was very busy and always tired, but he made time for my brother and I. Even if he was exhausted, he would listen to our troubles. A gentle, good man. A man… I miss dearly.”

Hanzo could still remember the funeral, how he had sat seiza as countless people paid their respects, offering himself and Genji the white envelopes of condolence money. He could remember the acrid scent of incense ash and the soft intonations of the monks as they chanted. He could remember how numb he felt, broken and shattered, for a man who he was unsure ever did, or even could, love him.

“He passed away when I was in University. I was going to get my Masters in mathematics.” Geometry, of all things. Genji teased him endlessly. His brother, the  _ math nerd. _ “And I… Was devastated, though I never let anyone see it.”

How would he ever tell her about Genji or about the loss and what he had done? Leaving it out seemed wrong - no beyond wrong; It was a complete miscarriage of justice for Hanzo to ignore the event. Swallowing thickly, he wormed through the choppy memories, feeling his eyes bleed tears for the wounds that reopened. “I did not want to burden my family, so I remained too isolated in myself. I got manipulated and… I fell into a bad crowd. Yakuza. A gang.” He laughed weakly and roughly rubbed his cheek against his shoulder.

“My brother tried to save me, he did his absolute best, but I was in too deep and… Addicted to drugs.” A drug called duty, honor. Stupid, worthless ideals for a den of snakes to use to trap and choke Hanzo. “I attacked him and harmed him badly. I was able to… To make it out. I got clean and healthy, but it has only been recently that we have talked and tried to rekindle our relationship.”

What a life this Hanzo had led - from a master mathematician to drug addict to reconciliation to engaged to a cowboy.

The cowboy.

“Ah, you’re… Probably wondering how I met Jesse. Truthfully, he knew Genji before he met me. Genji went abroad to study languages and met Jesse. They’re best friends. When… Genji contacted me again, we were introduced.”

Introduced with a punch to the mouth. Jesse McCree had been  _ furious _ , and rightly so. This was the demon, the monster that had tried to kill his best friend. Hanzo, if he had a heart, would have done the same.

But he did have a heart, and the cowboy had carefully extracted it. Pulled it from the depths of that darkness. He brushed it off, gave it a second chance, and lead it through a world without limits. A world, where Hanzo stood now - in a rustic kitchen, his hands idle instead of chopping veggies, dreaming of a life he had never led. 

“He became my friend. Helped me through my problems and I…”

Oh.

Oh  _ no. _

“You fell for him.” Abby pressed a hand on his shoulder, a grounding Hanzo did not know he needed until he was back in the kitchen again.

“Yes, I realized… I’ve fallen for him.” It felt like such a shocking revelation as if the Earth had opened below his feet; and yet it felt utterly natural. He breathed the words, a wisp of truth after the deluge of falsity.

Her responding laugh was soft and quiet and not at all condescending. They worked in silence, Hanzo glad for the reprieve as it allowed him to collect his scattered emotions. They thrummed heavily in his chest, eager to break loose and dance around. 

Abby was the first one to break the silence, “Did Jes tell you about his past? Or about John and me?”

Realistically, if they were engaged, then he should have. “He… Has not mentioned much. Just that he was in a gang and that he got out of it during a bust.” Abby remained quiet at that, leaving Hanzo to wonder if perhaps he had said too much or too little. Was it suspicious? Jesse was good at keeping most of his past guarded behind zealous conversation and broad smiles.

“I should really apologize t’ya. When I said I didn’t know Jess was into fellas. I ain’t got anything against that.” Hanzo finished the slice he had started, eyes stuck on the chopping board. “Guess since he is still runnin’ from himself, I’ll tell you a little bit about ourselves.”

When he glanced up at her to refuse, she was staring at him, a serious expression tugging down the corners of her mouth, “I was a workin’ girl fer the gang. Spent most of my time at the saloon, giving the boys information and giving the smugglers theirs. John and Jes were always good to me. John was his senior in the gang, been there four years by the time Jes was pulled in.”

She dropped her gaze and grabbed a rolling pin, carefully pressing it into the ball of dough she had made. Hanzo watched as each pass made the dough thinner and thinner, just as her words were wearing his desire to hear more thinner and thinner. This was private - this was Jesse’s history. He had to listen, though, to play his part. “When he turned sixteen I was his first.” Abby explained with a matter-of-factness that came from a hard life.

Odd. Hanzo was no fainting flower, he’d slept with many in his time with the Shimada-gumi. Somehow, hearing something so personal from the mouth of an ex-lover made him dizzy. Swallowing hard, he dropped his gaze and started to chop again. Jesse’s reluctance, how he told Marston he’d do nothing stupid... Was that ‘something stupid’ hooking up with Abigail? “I… see.”

“I thought you should know, why… I was so surprised. He was always a little overexcited, like a giant puppy. Hopefully, he’s a little less enthusiastic now, maybe mellowed a bit with age.” Hanzo grimaced, not wanting to imagine Jesse having sex with anyone, but especially not the image of ruggedly handsome Jesse with puppy dog ears and a wagging tail. Curse his vivid imagination.

Hanzo cleared his throat and finished his chopping. She motioned with a hand towards a large pot on the stove that was boiling away. Scraping in the veggies, Hanzo tried to collect his errant thoughts and herd them into something resembling a cohesive thought, “Thank you for… Letting me know.”

“Can you get me the pie tins right over in the cabinet?” Hanzo hummed in agreement and went to fetch them. At least the quiet wasn’t awkward, though he still felt uneasy learning something so personal about the other man. He’d… probably need to confess some things to McCree, to make their relationship equal. Finding the pie plates, he brought them over to Abby. She took them and then went about dusting them, “You ever done a pie crust?”

“I cannot say I have.” Nodding, she began to show him the steps, of how to lay the thin dough out and trim around the edges, “Then we gotta bake ‘em for a few minutes. After that, I’ll thicken the soup, and we’ll ladle that in. Chicken pot pie, my speciality.” Taking a breath, Miss Marston dusted off her hands on her white apron, “How about somethin’ to drink? We can sit at the table and chat? Go and sit a spell.”

Normally he’d refuse, but getting out of the kitchen felt nice. Especially if it meant off of his legs. He relaxed in one of the wooden dining chairs, finding them pleasantly comfortable. Moments later, Abby brought in two glasses of lemonade. Not a drink he’d go out of his way to have, but he was not about to turn his nose up at the hospitality. 

“There ain’t nothin’ lost between Jes and I, just want you to know. Once I got pregnant, John married me.” Hanzo had taken an experimental sip. Her statement and the insane bitterness made him splutter, coughing heavily. “Oh Lord! Hold on.”

He was wheezing by the time she returned with a cotton napkin to wipe up himself and the mess. “I…” Hanzo tried to catch his breathing, dizzy from the new information, “Jesse has a child with you?”

Abigail stopped short, looking blindsided. A burst of laughter erupted from her, head thrown back, “Oh God, no! No no. Jes and I only slept together two or three times. No wonder you about choked to death.”

Weakly laughing, Hanzo nodded in agreement. That would be too much information, something that he could never repay the cowboy.

\---

 

“Damn, Abby. You weren’ kiddin’ ‘bout learnin’ t’cook.” McCree yammered around a mouthful, earning a scowl from Hanzo.  _ Disgusting. _

“Don’t talk with food in yer mouth! Golly, what is wrong with you?” Abby swatted his arm playfully from where she sat beside him. Five at the table - John at the head, Jack and Hanzo on one side, Abby and Jesse on the other. At the very least, Jesse had the grace to look sheepish, the sight of which made him grin, though he tried to hide it.

Jack was a spitting image of John, just a little shorter, with a nose and smile that seemed to come directly from Abby. Blessedly, there was no trace of Jesse there. It appeared that Miss Marston had been telling the truth. Throughout dinner Jack was quiet, only answering questions that were directed at him and never taking so much as a glance off the plate of food. So when he finally did speak unprompted, Hanzo was surprised to find the question directed at him.

“Mister Shimada?” Jack was fussing with a cloth napkin, but had finally given Hanzo a full look, “I was wonderin’ - you really fight with that there bow?”

“Indeed.” A small smile quirked on his lips. A curious mind and an unfettered tongue. A dangerous combo. It was an innocent question, though. “Does that surprise you?”

Jack returned to his food, though that was more him pushing a pea around a gravy puddle with a fork, “Not at all, sir.” Hanzo waited for more, but only silence followed. Frowning slightly, he mimicked Jack’s position, finding great interest in the rest of his slice of potpie.

“Jack loves to read classics, ‘specially that one fella.” Marston’s voice was rich with humor. Much as the boy beside him acted like an obedient son, he was still a teenager. He yelped as if struck, a fiery blush crossing his cheeks. Hanzo couldn’t hide his smile.

“Pa!”

“Don’t you ‘Pa’ me, kid. What was that guy’s name? Uh…” John leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. A family interaction so different than his own. It reminded him of the story, of the fabrication of a better life that he had spun for Abby in the kitchen. “Think his name was Token? S.S.I? No, that’s the old social security acronym. Abby, you remember?”

Snorting inelegantly, she shrugged, “Nah. Don’t try to get me to remember, though I have a feelin’ I know why he’s askin’ about that bow of yours, Hand-so.”

Jack considered what was being said, but made no motion to answer one way or another. That only served to amuse both his parents, their ribbing turning into gregarious laughter. 

"Hey, leave the poor kid alone.” Jesse quipped with a playful jab of his fork in the air, “I remember bein' his age. Louis L'amour was my favorite person in the whole damn world, y'know?"

Jesse's outburst caught Hanzo by surprise. Swallowing down a smile, he glanced at the gunslinger, who was now brandishing a fork at both Abby and John; fighting for a young teen's honor. Comical, if not misplaced.

"Yeah, and look where it got you," Abby's comment was without barb or heat, but it still snapped Jesse back as if he'd been slapped. To add insult to injury, Miss Marston then slapped his shoulder, "A fella in the book uses a bow. It's Jack's favorite character."

It clicked. Hanzo let out a soft bark of laughter that was smothered quickly with a hand. Jack turned even brighter red, shoulders hitching up as if he wanted to sink his head down. A broad grin crossed John's face, pleased as punch to be able to tease his son. This was a normal interaction between a loving family. Hanzo could hardly remember ever laughing at a dinner table, certainly not so boldly. His father would have accosted him, physically and verbally.

"I see. I believe the name you were looking for was Tolkien. J.R.R. Tolkien. And the character is Legolas." One would have thought that Jack was just given the best gift, the way his eyes bugged and shined. "I loved those stories as well. Reading was a wonderful pastime for me." The only pastime allowed to him.

"That's right! Wow, didn' expect someone t'know about him or those stories. I love 'em, all those adventures and adventurers sound like a hoot."

Hanzo smiled faintly, his lips quirking at the boy. "Perhaps I can let you shoot it once or twice. Its weight and tension is set to myself, so I doubt you will be able to pull the string back far," _or if at all_ his mind supplied, but Hanzo kept that back. Especially given the broad smile that smacked across Jack's face.  
John cleared his throat, interrupting their moment, "Much as I think Jack would die of happiness, we gotta figure out what t'do with you boys first. This ain't your last stay, and frankly, I know you two should get the hell outta dodge as soon as ya can. With the way things are pushing, I'm... Not particularly fond of ya in this mix." Hanzo swallowed a sigh and nodded, realizing that their brainstorming was about to begin.  
"Jack, can you clear the table for us?" The boy nodded, returning to the dutiful son without argument. John stood and waved for them to go to the next room and to the much more comfortable seats.

John took the one chair while Abby sat down on the couch. That left the loveseat for Jesse and himself. He sat down, trying to temper the discomfort that was flaring in his stomach. Not much could be done for the situation. Blessedly, the other man didn't comment, but sat down and slung an arm over his shoulder. Once more, the weight of touch was like a branding iron to Hanzo's skin. It felt like fire and made the dragons preen. Settling back into the plush chair, Hanzo wiggled the toes of his prosthetics.

“‘Fore we get goin’ on plotting, I’ve been wondering ‘bout something.” Jesse started them off. This close, his voice was like the rumble of a river racing down its bed. It streamed over Hanzo, leaving him comforted by its cadence, “Why haven’t I seen any omnics around?”

Both John and Abby shared a look of surprise, only breaking it when John looked away and scratched at his jaw. “Don’t rightly know. Once all this started they were just… Gone. Folks say they were evacuated out of the area, on account of the faulty electricity.”

“I guess that makes sense…” Jesse was frowning, but it seemed to satisfy his curiosity for the time being. It did make some sense - without electricity or without  _ reliable _ electricity, charging batteries was going to be impossible. While solar arrays could work, Hanzo wondered just how many of the countless omnics in the area had access to that sort of tech. It seemed more in line with a doomsday prepper to have such things. 

With the question settled, John began.  
"Frankly, you're gonna need horses and cash. As much as I wanna say you can take two of mine, I simply don't got the means to be giving away my animals."

Jesse sat up straighter and shot a glare at their host. Hanzo was about a second away from slapping the cowboy's arm, not at all in the playful manner Abby had done earlier but held back. "We wouldn't take 'em. Bad 'nough that we're here soaking up your resources and making a nuisance of ourselves. I feel like... Well, t'be damn honest, I feel bad for imposin' on y'all."

"I must agree with Jesse," Hanzo added with much more quiet diplomacy, “Your hospitality has been overflowing. Taking anything more from you would be criminal."

Soothed by their protests, John leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, "Any ideas Abby? How can we get the boys outta here?"

"Best way and safest would be to head further west. California is mostly open, from what I know. Any more north and the chance of runnin' into trouble increases." California. It almost made Hanzo laugh. Genji and he had made plans as boys to run off to Cali, but like everything else, the clan shut them down. Now he would be, possibly, making the trip there with his fake fiance.

On horse.

"How much would horse and provisions cost?” Hanzo asked. “I am afraid that the money we have on us is in credit form, no cash." Considering the lack of hardlight surfaces and the use of horses, he had a hard time believing that there would be card readers anywhere.

"I could work some connections.” John trailed off, a thoughtful look in his eye as he scratched his bearded chin. After a moment, he continued, “Enough provisions and two horses could cost you 'bout $600." Hanzo recoiled at the number, eyes wide as he searched the Sheriff's face for a lie.

"Guess we'll have to take some jobs in town." Jesse sighed and scratched at his scruffy beard, though Hanzo could see the way his shoulders slumped as if fighting below a heavy load."Anyone need some work around town?"

Marston nodded and sat back into his chair. At that time, Jack returned and sat beside his mother, hands folded together loosely and rested between his knees. "Always need a hand or two breakin' in horses,” John suggested. “Hunting for meat and just takin' care of vermin around the area is a good job. Bounty huntin'."

Now that was something Hanzo could do. He glanced a look at Jesse. The man looked as if he were trying to solve a ten-step problem in his mind, eyes boring into the floor with such concentration Hanzo was sure it would erupt into flames.

"Guess huntin' and horse breakin' it is.” Jesse sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat, “Maybe even a little repair work."

"Jesse," Hanzo murmured, causing his partner look up. He touched Jesse’s forearm, giving it a pointed squeeze that he hoped would look gentle and loving to the watching eyes. "I do not know how to do any of the things you have said or has been suggested."

Grinning lopsidedly, McCree bumped their shoulders together, "Now, that's something I need t'get in writing: Hanzo Shimada doesn't know how to do something. Think I could sell it to your brother for a pretty penny."

Scoffing, he returned the shoulder bump, "And you  _ do _ know how to do all these things?"

It was Abby who responded, a smile laced in her voice, "Jesse is what you'd call a ... jack of all trades. He was always eager to have some extra credits in his pocket, especially when Deadlock was a bit stingy to their younger members."

"Hopefully not a 'master of none'," Hanzo finished the saying with a muttered breath.

"Don't worry darlin'," Jesse's grin was blindingly bright and broad, like the sunrise cresting the horizon, "I mastered a dragon just fine."

 

\---

 

With a plan in place, Abby showed them to their guest room. It wasn't too big, but thankfully clean and dust free despite her numerous warnings. Miss Marston was a better housekeep than she let on.

The only issue was the sleeping arrangements. One bed. Of course they were pretending to be engaged, so it made sense that they would share a room - share a  _ bed. _ Abby's words came back to rattle in the back of his blank mind,  _ "Maybe he's mellowed out with age. _ "

It wasn't uncommon to cuddle with a friend, was it? Hanzo didn't know. His friendships always came with clauses and statements and deals to be made. Money to be won, or spent. Allies to be gained or lost. Even now, years after he had left the Shimada-gumi, there was always a caveat to friendship. Friends because Genji asked them to be, friendly because they were a team.

But McCree wasn’t like that. They kindled a friendship on their own, shared between training and drinking. Between moments of a past too similar to ignore. So if he had to share his bed with anyone, then at least it was the cowboy.

There was a small bathroom attached to the guest room, and to his relief, hot running water. They took short showers, just enough time to scrub the grime from their skin. Hanzo opted to take his second. McCree had been the one to do the most today; he deserved to relax and get clean. As soon as Jesse was finished - walking out in nothing more than a towel - Hanzo took his. Just a quick scrub and rinse.

Jesse was surprisingly still awake when Hanzo stepped back into the room, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and drying his hair. The dry climate was making Hanzo’s hair frizz and crackle with each passing movement. The cowboy looked exhausted but still offered Hanzo a small smile. With his metal hand, Jesse patted the bed, beckoning over Hanzo. There was no delaying the inevitable. 

Crawling onto the bed, Hanzo laid out onto his side and learned two things: 1) Jesse McCree was very warm, his skin comforting to be against and 2) Jesse McCree was very soft and tender. As soon as he was still, Jesse wrapped an arm around Hanzo and pulled him close, closer than needed, nearly chest to chest. When, unconsciously, his body stiffened into an unyielding board, Jesse merely chuckled into his hair.

“Hanners,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “gotta relax. We’re engaged, so ‘course we’re gonna snuggle up. ‘Sides, it gets cold as shit in the desert during the night. You’ll be wanting this warmth.”

“Idiot,” There was no heat in it if anything it sounded unbearably fond. Hanzo rubbed Jesse’s forearm and sighed. Skin to skin contact was something he had very little of in the ten years after killing -- no,  _ attempting _ to kill Genji. One night stands on very rare occasions, but those were few and far between and did not include curling in the arms of another. Jesse felt all-encompassing. A safety blanket of a man. How ridiculous.

With how quiet Jesse had gone, Hanzo had assumed he had fallen asleep. Then the cowboy spoke again, “Don’t worry too much. I’ll get us outta this mess. Just gotta trust me, darlin’.”

Trust. That word again. Hanzo wondered if Jesse understood just  _ how much _ trust he was being given. Hanzo was going to fall asleep in his arms, defenseless. He’d need to rely on Jesse to get the money to buy horses and provisions. He was woefully unprepared for an excursion in this desert region, while McCree was like a fish to water. All Hanzo  _ could _ do was trust. 

_ You’re being coddled. You’re a burden. A weakling. A fraud. They will see through you, they will know the truth. Once Jesse knows the truth, he will hate you. He will be disgusted by you. _ Dark thoughts rose unbidden in his mind. Hanzo let out a shuddering sigh and pressed in closer. A strong hand stroked the back of his head.

“It’s… I do,” Hanzo deflated, eyes pinching shut, “This whole plan has gone to hell. We’ve missed our call in, and now HQ must be worried about us. On top of that, I’m utterly useless. I have, and can, contribute nothing.”

“You’re jokin’ right?” Jesse leaned back. The feeling of eyes on him was intense. There was a firm command in his partner’s voice when he spoke next, “Hanzo… Look at me.” Refusing that simple request was impossible. He opened his eyes and saw the deep frown on Jesse’s face. Whatever Jesse found was telling, the frown morphing slowly into wide eyes and raised brows. “Shit. Hanzo, no. You…. Hanzo if it weren’t for you bein’ here, I’d be dead. You’ve kept me grounded this whole damn day, kept me focused.”

Hanzo’s face scrunched as if he had smelled something nasty, “How? By being coddled?”

There was no quick answer, just a long hard stare. Hanzo shifted, squirmed, under the scrutiny. “Hanzo… You think I know how to use a CB radio? No. If you weren’t here I’d be baked t’death. What about Marston? You kept me from being too stubborn and scared when I realized who was on the other line. You kept my paranoia from gettin’ us help. You kept me going along with the help cause I knew I had t’get you someplace safe. Shit, Hanners, if I was solo I’d have probably tried to sleep in the damn desert and got eaten by a radioactive coyote.”

He couldn’t keep eye contact with Jesse, not with the heat burning in his cheeks. Jesse pulled him back in again, and Hanzo let him, allowed himself to be cuddled. Just for tonight. Just for right now. Just so he could keep the nasty thoughts from consuming him whole. McCree’s voice was softer, and Hanzo felt, more than heard, the rumble in his barrel chest. “Dunno how you’ve kept such a calm head ‘bout all this, if’n I’m honest. But your calm and teasing have kept me from doin’ anything stupid. Kept my head above water. You’re far, far from useless or coddled.”

Unsure of how to respond, Hanzo closed his eyes and gave the other man an affectionate squeezing hug. Chuckling softly, Jesse let out a content sigh and got comfortable.  
“G’night darlin’. See you come mornin’.”


	5. Bounty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood, wounds, past child abuse

Sunrise was always brilliant in the desert, like God had decided to make up for the mess of heat and dangerous critters by giving them all a bit of beauty to hold onto. Deep dark blue broke up into softer, muted tones, and then, from the thin stretched horizon, through the swaying blades of grass, peaked the first fingers of color. A thick band of dark orange that spread into rosy pink fingers that faded into the last darkness of night, blending into a wistful blue-green. Wispy clouds soaked up the light, painting themselves in dusky pink.

Jesse sucked in a breath, suppressing a shiver in the cold morning air. A cup of coffee clutched in his big hands helped to relieve some of the chill. Part of him wanted to go back in the house and wake up Hanzo, but the fella had to be worn out. Their plans had gone to shit in ways no one could have imagined. For all the the archer’s creativity and flexibility in the field, he was a stickler for plans. Jesse, however, despised planning. They always went bad, no matter how well you prepped. Blackwatch had taught him that within a few weeks of joining the organization.

Gabriel’s voice rumbled in his ears:  _ Prepare for the best outcome, mijo, and hope for the worst to come quick. _

Well, it sure had this time. Chuckling to himself, he sipped the bitter coffee and winced. Abby might have learned to cook, but her coffee brewing skills left a lot to be desired.

Jesse paid no mind to the front door opening, figuring it was Jack or John out to start their day. Marston had been at the table, chewing on toast and reading a day old newspaper (an honest to god newspaper, now that was a trip). When Jesse said he’d be taking his coffee on the porch, the Sheriff had laughed and shooed him away.  _ “Go then, freeze your balls off on your own.” _

He was forced to pay mind when whoever had stepped out stopped beside him. Jesse looked and quirked an eyebrow. Hanzo was exhausted looking, dark bags still clinging under his eyes and his hair out of sorts. A cup of coffee was wrapped in his palms and he looked none too pleased with the cowboy.

He’d never seen his partner show up anywhere looking so out of sorts and underprepared, “You all right there, partner? Figured y’sleep well into the mornin’.”

“You were not in bed,” Oh and if that didn’t do funny things to his heart. Jesse took a quick gulp of coffee, just to occupy his fool mouth from saying something he shouldn’t. It scalded his tongue bad, but the tears were from the shot of bitterness.  
Coughing softly, he rubbed his mouth on the back of his hand, “Didja wanna cuddle some more?”

Hanzo settled in beside Jesse, sighing roughly. The other man was shorter, but could easily rest his cup and forearms on the railing. “Yesterday in the car you were convinced this was an ambush.” There was a pause, though Jesse couldn’t tell why. Also couldn’t tell why Hanzo was giving him that pointed look; like there was something he was missing. “... And then this morning you were gone. I am a light sleeper, Jesse and yet I did not feel you leave. On top of this, your chest armor was on the floor.”

Oh. OH. Wincing, Mccree took his hat off his head and pressed it against his chest, “Darlin’, I’m right sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to scare you none.”

Snorting, the archer looked back out towards the empty horizon, “I was not scared. I was…” Hanzo’s voice dropped off, which let Jesse fall back into his sunrise watching as he waited. When it didn’t come, he snuck a glance and realized that Hanzo was now watching the same thing.

“Gorgeous, ain’t it?” Jesse moved the cup in his hands, leaching more of the warmth, “One of a few things I miss the most ‘bout this place. Sunsets are even better, and God the stars that can come out… Nothing like it anywhere in the world.”

Their coffees were finished in silence, each enjoying Nature’s beauty and left to their own thoughts. As odd as it was to share the quiet morning with someone, a ritual he had from all the years in Deadlock, it felt comfortable. Jesse felt like, if he had to introduce and share this little bit of himself with anyone, he was glad it was Hanzo.

 

\---

 

“All right, I’ll leave y’boys to it. Run into any trouble y’can find me at the station,” Marston clicked his tongue and peeled off from the group down the main thoroughfare of Armadillo. It was certainly much more lively than it had been when they had come through yesterday afternoon. Folks and omnic alike were meandering about their business, though many stopped and cast unconcealed gazes at the two outsiders. 

Already the heat was starting up, though Jesse knew it’d be a few hours before it became unbearable. Jesse adjusted the bandana around his neck, his serape and chest armor were left back in the guest room. It felt odd to not have it hanging around his shoulders, a weight something akin to a security blanket after having fought and traveled with it. Getting heatsick would be worse, so he suffered in silence. Hanzo had opted for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, something that helped him blend a little more than a silk kydo-gi and hakama. If they were getting odd looks now, hell the town would have been gawking.

“Alright, first order a business is to get us some cash. Now, according to John, there were a buncha wild horses brought in yesterday.” Breaking in horses sounded much crueler than it really was, though Jesse had no illusions that as some outsider looking for work he would be given anything other than the roughest and toughest jobs. The first ride was always a bitch. “I’ll go over and work. Should get us some good coin.” There were already a few purchases that had to be done today, prior to any saving for a horse.

“What do you suggest I do?” It was tempting to just tell Hanzo to do nothing, but that was only going to wind him up. As it was, he was sitting so rigidly in the saddle Jesse was fairly sure a stiff breeze would knock him over.

Time for a good head scratch. Taking off the hat, Jesse raked his fingers through his locks and hummed, “Decent question. I’m sure there’s folks who need help deliverin’ stuff, but this ain’t no place to be wandering around lost. Ya any good workin’ with your hands?”

“No, not in the strictly legal domain that is.” And then Hanzo went from rigid to marble.

Reaching over, he gave his partner a swift clap on the back, “Calm down now. Ain’t nothin’ we can’t figure out. Marston’ll know better than I do who needs some help. Hell, maybe y’can help him?”

Hanzo slowly relaxed back into the saddle, nodding once, “That is a decent suggestion. Then, if you will excuse me.” Yesterday he hadn’t been able to actually see Hanzo ride, but as the archer pulled away, Jesse felt his mouth go dry. Good posture was something Hanzo seemed to have ingrained in his very being, but on that horse it was even more obvious. He looked like a Prince, with his chin held high and superior at the townsfolk. 

_ You weren’t there this morning. _ Worried. Hanzo Shimada had been worried about him. Probably, Jesse reasoned with himself as he rode towards the outskirts of town, because without you he’d be utterly lost. Nothin’ to really look into there. Didn’t stop his fool heart from delighting in the sight of the man riding or how worried he’d been. One day, Jesse would learn to control it. One day.

Turned out that the horse farm was in the same place it had been when Jesse would haunt these lands. No more than two old buildings and a few round pens made up of metal fences. A handful of help stood in or around the pens, chatter of twangs and Mexican accents. A surge of familiar comfort wiggled down his spine, making him smile wide as he dismounted the horse and approached the group closest.

A few of the men spared him a glance, but the majority of the group were busy chuckling and teasing one another. Closer now to the bars, Jesse could see two cowboys inside, one leading a beautiful Sabino and the other a gorgeous Apricot Dun. They were walking easily, not fighting nor rushing their handlers. 

“Howdy, one of you fellas the owner of the farm?” Two of the men stopped chatting. Jesse straightened as he was given a scrutinizing stare. Sizing up the competition, or a potential troublemaker. Hard to tell, their lack of smiles could go either way. Instinct said it was the former.

“Nah, boss is in the shack closest to us.” The man who responded looked like he had more scars than skin, his jaw jerking over his shoulder to one of the drab, dark brown wood shacks. Grunting his thanks, Jesse turned from the group, all too aware of the many eyes watching his steps.

Boss ended up being a gray, balding older man with a seriously nasty sunburn. He was currently writing in a ledger, grumbling to himself and not bothering to look up at someone stepping into the shack. A reasonable response for someone who either doesn’t get a lot of visitors or doesn’t give a shit. Respectable, regardless. 

“Fellas outside said I’d find the boss in here. Are you him?” At the question, the man finally stopped writing and looked up, eyes raking Jesse up and down.

“And if I am?” his voice was like gravel in a blender. Years of grit and smoking had done a number.. “What do you need?”

“Mars -- Sheriff Marston said you wrangled yourself some new ferals and might be needing some help.” 

The man raised one bushy white eyebrow and leaned forward onto the desk, “You blind, boy? Didja not see how much help I’ve got out there?”

“Saw two fellas doin’ work and the others doin’ a whole lot of shootin’ the shit.” Shrugging, he shifted his weight onto one leg.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as the gentleman grunted and look considerably sourer. “Figures. Help just ain’t what it used t’be.”

“Surely ain’t.” He tsked and shook his head, hoping to make an inroad with sympathy. It backfired when the boss shot him a steely, narrow-eyed glare.

“Don’t think some no name would be much better help. Most of the horses already got their walking and load training. All that’s left is the shit most no one wants.”

Damn. Well, even if there had been easier jobs available, there was little guarantee they’d be offered to some outsider. They needed cash, and Jesse wasn’t about to become picky. “First ride I take it? I’m a little outta practice, but through my childhood and teens I did many a first ride.”

“Is that so?” Mocking, clear and loud, spilled from the older man’s mouth. He grinned cruelly, “Tell me, y’know we’re talking about riding horses boy, right?”

It stung sharply, but Jesse only plastered on a fake, easy grin. Years of undercover training being put to good use.  _ Need that cash. Suck it up, vaquero. _ “Jefe, if you wanna let your fellas bust their teeth out and get concussions, then by all means, go right ahead. Clearly, y’got enough cash ‘round to pay help that’s just sitting on their thumbs. I’ll be on my way.”

Jesse turned, whistling brightly as he strutted towards the door. If the owner called him back, good. If not, there had to be other work around the area. He might have been able to keep his cool at the slight, at the ‘insult’, but that didn’t mean he  _ had _ to subject himself to it. 

Just as he had a hand on the doorknob, that gravelly voice called out, “Wait!” Jesse did as requested, turning ever so slightly to see the boss frowning at him, “Fine. But if you get hurt, it’s your own damn fault.”

“Fine by me, Jefe.”

 

\---

 

One of the men who had been doing the walks rode the point horse, an older greying mare with a calm and honey sweet disposition. Jesse took one look at the horse they had thrown the leather saddle and riding blanket on, and fought hard to not frown. It was the Apricot Dun, but she looked none too pleased to be there, her rich brown eyes glancing everywhere. Jesse climbed over the metal fence, making sure she could see where he was approaching from. He stayed as far away from her rear legs, having seen more than one man brained by a well-placed kick.

She snuffed the air, ears pinning back, as this stranger stepped closer, but to Jesse's surprise, she didn’t bolt. Strong headed and skittish, an odd combo. Or perhaps the boys had worked her well, got her adjusted to the idea of strangers and strange men. Regardless, he pulled out some chaff hay from his back pocket. With fingers splayed flat, he offered it to her with an outstretched palm. Her suspicion didn’t waiver, but the Dun finally gummed over the treat. Surprising him further, she was gentle.

Fondly, Jesse stroked her muzzle, cooing softly, “There we go. Ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of, sweetheart.” Even if the mare had settled down, it was still clear this would be no easy ride. Even the sweetest, kindest of horses would become unstable and buck a rider off during the first ride. He cast a glance around the metal fence, thankful that the setup was free of sharp edges and the riding pit was lined in sand. Would still hurt like a bitch to hit, but it wouldn’t be like falling directly into hard dirt. Or gravel. Gravel was the worst.

Taking a hold of the reins, he nodded at the other rider, who returned the gesture. With a steadying breath, he whispered a soft “Alright girl, here we go.” He put a foot in the stirrup and was swinging his leg over when the ride started. Jesse had a split second to interrupt the shrill whinny before the Apricot Dun started off at a trot. Bless whoever saddled her, because if it had been done wrong at all, he’d have been spilled from the horse. “Woah, girl! Woah! Woah!”

Jesse managed to get his leg over the saddle right as she bucked, sending him damn near over her ears. Hissing, he clutched at the saddle horn with his metal hand. By some miracle, he wasn’t spilled out of the seat. A gentle tug of the reins drew the horse just enough so he could jam his other boot into the stirrup. “All right, damn. Y’done bein’ a cantankerous bit -- SHIT!”

The answer was a resounding no. She started to run again, body swaying back and forth in a slow, steady buck that made Jesse feel like a small boat in an angry ocean. He had to time this right and follow the movements with his own body weight, or he’d get tossed. After a few seconds of panicked motions, she stopped. “Christ on a cracker, y’sure ain’t gonna make this easy, huh girl? Can’t ya jus’ take your first ride with ease?” No response. Well, wasn’t the first angry woman Jesse had tried to reason with that gave him a cold shoulder. Probably wouldn’t be the last either. The only blessing so far was that the other pace rider was doing his job perfectly. If the Dun thought she could bust away from the small lane of travel she had between the other horse and the metal fencing, she would. And if that happened, then this would turn from a ride into holding onto dear life as he was bucked to hell and back.

He was lulled into a false sense of security, the way she walked calmly in pace with the other horse and rider. Then, like a switch being flipped, they were off at a mad dash. She tore around the circle of the pen, kicking the dirt and sand into a mist in the air. “Come on, now girl! Woah! Woah!” But this time, there was no stopping. She switched into the kicking, bucking motions at that speed, doing everything in her power to dislodge the rider on her back.

He was pushed up in the saddle for a brief moment and all of his muscles clenched. Her body twisted to the right, taking the corner, and the upwards motion of the next buck forced his boots from the saddle. Jesse was launched against the metal railing, the wind knocking soundly from his chest as he laid in the haze of dirt and showered in snickers and hoops of laughter. Thankfully, the inner rider caught the horse’s leads, keeping the Dun from completing the circuit and trampling him.

“Damn. She’s feisty.” Aches and pains sang in places Jesse had forgotten he had. A fierce, red pain burned between his shoulder blades. Jesse stood up, chuckling as he wiped himself off, “Guess it’s time to get back in the saddle.” That shut up a good chunk of the snickering laughter. It also won him a grateful, welcoming smile from the pace rider. Least work ethic spoke louder than insider/outsider status still.

 

\---

 

Armadillo’s sheriff office was intentionally made to look like it had been warped out of a cowboy western. White adobe-style walls with exposed cedar beams coupled with a tacky, washed out gold sheriff star should not have been threatening. It still made Jesse’s heart beat rapidly. All those years running from the law would do that to a fella; especially since he was about to just head in there willingly. Still, Jesse swallowed down any nerves and stepped through the open door.

In one corner, an old-fashioned fan whirred uselessly, pushing around the hot air that suffocated the room. Armadillo was slowly heating up, and that meant the buildings were going to become humid little ovens. Most of the places had AC, but either no power or perhaps another issue was keeping Marston from turning on their own.

Hanzo was sitting with his back to the door at a desk on the far side wall, his finger tracing along a sheet of paper. Impossible to tell from this distance, but considering that there was a whole troop of grey file boxes surrounding Hanzo like an expectant audience, it was safe to wager he was doing some sort of clerical work. Marston was sitting near the door, only sparing Jesse a glance when he walked in, before turning back to his own work.

"I do not understand. How could they both be claiming that they own this piece of property when clearly one of them has the deed and the other does not?" Oh, a land dispute. Those were fun. Jesse grinned and walked closer, not even trying to stifle the sound of his spurs clinking merrily against the tile floor of the station. Hanzo didn't seem to notice, his head shaking, "I cannot fathom how someone could be so stupid. What did they expect you to do? Evict the other tenants because they said they owned it?"

From a bag at his right, Jesse pulled out a stetson and plopped it onto Hanzo's head. The ninja jerked around, a snarl half-formed on his face. "What is the meaning of thi -- Jesse?"

"Howdy darlin'. Bought you a little something."

Silence, and then a frown that could have made paint peel, "You spent your earnings on a  _ hat _ ?"

Chuckling gently, He hobbled around the desk and grabbed another seat. Jesse practically fell into it, draping his arms and sprawling his legs. A groan of discomfort fell out before he could stop it. "Somethin' like that. Don't gimme that look, sugar. If we're gonna be travelin' in this desert you're gonna need a good hat. It'll keep you from getting heat sick or worse." Whatever argument Hanzo was prepared to launch died quickly when Marston’s smooth voice carried over to them. 

"Jesse isn't wrong. You will need that hat. Surprised you're here, Jes. Gave up on the horses?"

Snorting, Jesse shifted in the seat and tried to get comfortable. Bruises, formed from the rough falls and riding, sang along his thighs and chest. "That's fightin' words. No... Sonnovabitch owner told me I wasn't needed after this break. Did damn good work. Few of the farmhands even complimented me on it. Guess he just didn't want t'deal with another hired help."

"So we are both out of work then." Hanzo’s voice was like a faucet running, filling his gut with guilt. All Jesse could do was nod. Failure was always something he hated to admit, hated to have it come down on himself. Made it worse that someone was relying on him to get them out of this situation. "Then perhaps it is time for a new consideration. Sheriff Marston was explaining that there are a few bounties available."

"Bounties?" Now that made a hell of a lot more sense than breaking horses. Still dangerous, doubly so considering the sort of men the desert enjoyed producing, but it was their last option. Nodding, Jesse stretched as he sat up properly in the chair. Every muscle protested and he gave a valiant effort to not wince. From the worried glance Hanzo shot him, he knew it was unsuccessful. Blessedly, he didn’t comment.

"Correct,” Hanzo answers. “There are a few, however this one is the highest paying and the closest." A thin piece of paper was pushed across the desk. WANTED - in large blocky letters stood at the top, a grainy black and white photo right below it. It depicted a woman with shorn hair and sharp eyes. Jesse's heart lurched, not even needing to read the name to know who this was.

Shaking his head, he pushed the paper back, "Nah. No can do."

"Why? Because she was a member of your old gang? Are you protecting them?" Hanzo's narrowed eyes hurt worse than being flung from the horse. Gritting his teeth, the cowboy shifted again in his seat.

"Ain't like that! I know what sorta gal she is. She's dangerous, Hanzo."

Snorting, his companion rolled his eyes and stood up. Hanzo was not a tall man, but he was imposing. The bulk of his body always left Jesse feeling a little in awe. "I have dealt with dangerous and scary. A bounty like this could solve all our issues in one fell swoop." He paused and then nodded, "If someone can take her down, it will be us."

Loathe as Jesse was to admit it, Hanzo was right. More than right. They had both run as bounty hunters in their odd years, Hanzo doing it for close to ten. If anyone in this Godforsaken town could take down a dangerous criminal, it was the two of them. It didn’t settle right though, made his skin crawl. They had a higher mission that required answering, news and facts that were crucial for Overwatch to learn. If they fell, then who knew how many more would die in this region?

But they had to get out. That meant cash. Jesse sighed, defeated by both Hanzo’s stubbornness and his own acceptance of the facts. “All right. Let’s start plottin’ this out. First thing, we gotta know where she’s at now. Marj is a slippery critter. She’s been courted by the law long before Deadlock was her home. Never could pin her.” Jesse rapped his metal knuckles against the desk, wishing he had something to chew in his mouth.

“Marj has been spotted squatting in Twin Rocks.” Marston approached their desk with a large map spread between his hands. His chin jerked at the papers scattered about and Jesse took the hint, collecting and putting them away so the man could put down the map. Marston pressed a finger on Armadillo, “This is where we’re at, and Twin Rocks…” He traced a trail to the north before bending east and tapping a red X, “This is Twin Rocks. Ain’t much there other than the rocks it’s named after and an adobe style compound.”

“If you are aware of where this Marj is located, then why have you not arrested her?” Hanzo was scowling at the map and then to John.

Marston, for all his faults, took it in stride with a soft sigh, “Because, as Jes said, Marj is dangerous. Back in the day she was our dynamite specialist. No one in their right mind would mess with one of her bombs. I’m pretty sure she’s got the whole area covered in landmines.”

Heavy silence hung around the three, leaving Jesse to catalogue each throb of pain in his back and body. Minesweeping was impossible, given how most tech was shorting out, and just waltzing in there was suicide. Even if the money was good, it wasn’t worth getting blown up over. “Nah, this is a bad idea. We ain’t gonna die for some shit bounty, Hanzo. Let’s figure somethin’ else out.”

“Does this Marj have associates? Are there others in her gang?” 

Marston nodded, arms folded across his chest, “Sure, about a handful. Jus’ some loyal dogs that followed when she left Deadlock.”

“It will not be that difficult,” Hanzo stated matter of factly, “to find if the mines are there, and if they are, where they are placed. They must leave this compound at some point, and if we observe them, they will give us a path to follow.”Jesse blinked rapidly, wondering if he had misheard his companion. He watched Hanzo’s face, searching for some sign that this was just a humorless joke. 

Brilliant laughter barked out of John, who clapped Jesse hard on the back. It did nothing for the aches and pains, and nothing to soothe the worry worming in his gut, “I like this fella. Y’did good, Jes.” Like a wildfire in a bone-dry prairie, Jesse’s cheeks erupted in a hot blush. Thankfully, it looked like Hanzo did too, though his ‘better half’ recuperated quickly.

“Then, we will need to borrow your horses again, Sheriff Marston.” Hanzo paused, eyes narrowed; the cogs turning in his head were visible even from the outside. “And a pair of binoculars.”

“Fine by me, just make sure y’bring ‘em both back.”

It didn’t sit right. This whole plan was foolish and overly dangerous, but Jesse could tell from the way the proud dragon stood, with his back rigid and chin tilted high, there was to be no arguing. Hanzo was already considerably uncomfortable with how their plan had derailed, and now that there was a solution within his grasp, it would be taken. Jesse resigned himself to this fact and nodded, “Guess we oughta get goin’, huh? Gotta get ready and then head over. We’ll have enough daylight to scout.”

Hanzo’s chuckle broke his thoughts apart, “It is doubtful they come out of their compound during the day, Jesse. If it is known where they’re at, and they have yet to be arrested, then they must be moving in the cover of darkness.” Well shit. Now that made a lot of sense. Bombs or not, if someone could just watch the path the goons took then they could follow along easily. “We will have the rest of the day to prepare and then head out during our own cover of darkness.”

“You sure this will work, Han? I mean… In the dark, even with binoculars, we could miss somethin’ crucial.” And missing something crucial could be the difference between life and death.

“Trust me.” Oh, and what Jesse could give to wipe that smirk off the archer's face. It made his stomach flip and heart flutter, even if it was just a jab.

“Yeah yeah. All right, guess we’re gonna vamoose.” They helped to put the file boxes away for Marston before leaving, and Jesse couldn’t help but wonder if that was the last time he’d see Marston; Would this fool errand get them killed?.

_ Trust me. _ Hardy har har. Unlike Hanzo, knowing the plan did nothing to soothe the angry, chaotic worry that swirled in his mind. It only pointed out the flaws, the possibilities, the big and the

little of a mission like this. One step wrong, a stumble, and it was over. If there were mines. Jesse groaned and settled his head onto the task of riding. 

 

\---

 

Hanzo was right - the blue-black sky was cloudless, allowing the light of a fat dollop moon to brighten the world in soft, ethereal tones. Everything was washed away by its cast, turning into a grayish facsimile. Under normal circumstances, such a gorgeous night would be wonderful to share with a bottle of whiskey and a good conversation. Instead, they were scouting out the compound, at a distance that made Jesse’s heartache. With the dim lighting and the distance, it was foolish to think that whatever elaborate path the others used to get out of the gang’s hideout could be followed. They’d surely be killed.

Only the brightest of colors stood out, including the white of the adobe building. Its walls were chipped and fading, the thin round support beams a harsh grey color from being exposed to the sun. There were two buildings: one to the left that was larger and one to the right that was smaller. At first, both had remained pitch black, then as night wore on, faint candlelight flickered in the windows of the left building. From the door, two men moved out and headed in different directions. Jesse cursed softly, following the man on the left as he disappeared. Moments later, he was back in view, though this time on top of the rock.

“Scouts.” Hanzo spat the word out like it was dirty, and it might as well have been. Marj was smart or paranoid, or possibly both. One didn’t usually exclude the other. “No matter. We are far enough from them that we will be invisible.”

Considering they also were also covered in Jesse’s tan serape, that was true. The material allowed them to blend easily into the scenery, making them just another patch of sand in a large desert. It was hot under the blanket, the ground giving up all the heat it had absorbed through the day. Felt like they were snuggling in close, despite a good foot between them.

“Hanzo, I still ain’t sure ‘bout any of th--”

“Shh!” A hand flung up, hastily cutting off his words. Jesse’s mouth closed with enough force to make his teeth click. He looked back down the binoculars and felt his heart leap.

Three men were carefully weaving their way through the front yard. It was difficult to make it out, try as Jesse might to watch them. Memorizing their steps was impossible. Once more, he wondered if this was going to get them killed. If it was worth the risk. Hanzo certainly seemed to believe it would be fine, but Jesse wasn’t so willing to stake a claim in something so dangerous when there were other, albeit slower, methods available to them.

All three men left the yard and rode off down the trail, their path drawing them within shouting distance of where the two hid. Jesse seized, growing still and silent. Blessedly, none of the riders slowed down their mad gallops, whooping and laughing loud enough to scare a ghost from its grave. When the noise and vibration of hooves left the ground, Jesse finally released a sigh of relief. Hanzo did the same. Maybe the man had some self-preservation after all.

Hanzo shifted and sat upon his haunches and pulled Stormbow from his back. It was a marvel to see the sniper take shots. The way his arm muscles coiled tight, shaking from the exertion of the pull as he aimed, was a delight. More than once Jesse had been tempted to reach out and squeeze that muscle, but he would rather keep his head. It was tempting even now, when Hanzo was just nocking an arrow.

“Didja get a good enough look?”

“Yes, it is not as bad as it seems. Now, quiet.”  _ Actin’ like I’m such a loud mouth. Darn snooty ol’ drago-- _

“Hanzo!” The arrow snapped from his bow, whistling through the air and nailing the scout on the right rock. Jesse jerked, caught off guard at the distance and accuracy. His heart hammered hard in his chest, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Surely, the other man would notice and alert the rest of the gang. But seconds after the first guard fell, Hanzo let loose another arrow. It found its home in the second scout. Jesse’s mouth ran dry, awe and a little arousal peppering his thoughts, “That’s… fuckin’ amazing, darlin’.”

“Simple geometry. Come, cowboy. We do not know how much longer the others will be out.” Hanzo stood now, brushing the sand off his body. They were both wearing dark black, tight fitting clothes, though Hanzo’s had enough give on the front that it could be pulled up over his nose and mouth. Jesse had opted for a black bandana, to which he pulled over his nose and mouth as well.

Their final approach to the compound was uneventful. Though now, standing much closer to the start of the minefield, Jesse’s doubts returned. It was much larger than it had first looked, and how far away they were made what little Jesse could remember of the men’s squirming dance across the yard all the more harrowing. As if sensing these thoughts, a warm hand rested on his back.

Softly, against his ear, Hanzo whispered, “I am confident in my abilities, Jesse. If you stay close to me, directly where I have walked before, we can make it to the front of the compound without incident.” 

It wasn’t about confidence or abilities. It was about the nibbling doubt and gut wrenching worry that made the gunslinger’s knees practically quake. It was the way he wanted to gag on nothing. It was the way panic was starting to funnel his vision to a pinprick, his breathing heavy in his own ears. All of this, even Hanzo’s words, reminded Jesse of the past, of running crazy scenarios in Blackwatch. Of Reyes’ eternal disappointment when the cowboy grew fearful. Of the hard blows that walloped him in Deadlock when he was too slow to figure out something. Of even further back, to the early days of sitting below a table, listening to the voice of a man bellow at his Mama. As Jesse, small and tired and scared, tried to muffle what tears came up. 

When a hand touched his cheek, Jesse recoiled as if slapped. But no, that was wrong. He hadn’t been hit - merely touched. Hanzo looked into his eyes, not angry, not disappointed, not seeking more. An emotion he couldn’t place was singing in those gorgeous eyes. They watched Jesse’s reactions, gave him something to focus on and he was thankful for that. The world slowly started to fill back in, the panic receding ever so slightly as Hanzo stroked his face with calloused fingertips.

“Can you trust me, Jesse? Please?” Hanzo pulled down the black mask, revealing his face. Revealing himself so Jesse could spot any falsehood.

Trust. Swallowing hard, he nodded and took in a deep shuddering breath, “Of course, darlin’. I… I trust ya.” You’d think he had given Hanzo the keys to the city, not a simple statement. Delight and wonder crossed him, his smile warm.

“Good. Now, it is not that hard. I can easily replicate their steps. We will need to be silent, but if you become too worried, grab my hand.” Jesse’s cheek felt cold when the hand was withdrawn. His fingers twitched in protest, wanting nothing more than to grab it and shove it right back there. Another time. Taking every inch of want and panic, he pushed them all into focus. Shoulders back and spine straight, the gunslinger flashed Hanzo an easy grin. It was returned in fold.

Wordlessly, Hanzo took the first step forward. He looked over his shoulder once, to ensure Jesse was watching, and made the next step - one forty-five degrees to the right. Jesse swallowed heavily and stepped where Hanzo had been. Once more, the archer looked over his shoulder - guilt started to tug at his concentration. Was it because of the panic? He was being a burden, a pain a -- Fuck. No. Now was not the time to get lost in his own head. Not here, in the middle of a minefield.

To Jesse’s surprise, Hanzo took one step to the left, but only with a single foot. He kept the other on where he had stood and waited until Jesse had moved forward. Ah, so that was the plan? It was even easier to follow then. Every step they came together, then pulled apart, a slow inch-worm of a dance across the open, arid lawn. As they drew closer, loud laughter split the air, followed by the high tinkling sound of glass. Drinking, most likely.

He could breathe easy on the other side of the yard, pressed against the white adobe of the building. Jesse was flush against one wall, Hanzo the other one. Peacekeeper’s cool barrel pressed against his cheek. They shared a nod before Jesse knocked on the front door. Immediately the laughter and chatter cooled off. Someone came closer. A loud noise and a curse told Jesse they had stumbled.

“Fuggin’ - tol’ you fellas t’take yer daaaamn tiiiiime.” Very drunk. The door flew open, “... Wha… What’s goin’ on? Where are ya? If’n yer gonna scare me wiff dat goes… ghoost shit again then yer a pri--”

The man’s eyes went from squinting suspiciously in the dark to wide open. So shocked, as if he’d been shot. And then, he was. Peacekeeper was loud, as subtle as a bomb in the quiet desert air. It was near point blank, and the gunpowder burned Jesse’s hands. He threw himself to the side as the noise was met with startled shouting and the wildfire of drunk, angry men and women.

For the second time that night, adrenaline punched his heart into high gear, his laughter bordering manic in its high pitched intensity. Most of the fights in Overwatch were clinical, or against omnics and Talon members. His felt raw, like revisiting an old, well worn memory. Jesse had sunk years in this desert, chasing firefight after firefight with the same reckless glee. 

Hanzo pushed forward next, his scatter arrow giving them enough cover to push further in. The floorboards groaned uneasily below their feet, a graying wood similar to the exposed beams of the adobe. Inside was something Jesse also found familiar - crates of weapons, explosives, and booze. Old containers of food and dirty laundry. A few used condoms, old enough to have gone dry and dusty. Filth and money mixing together into a slurry that smacked of Deadlock. Unlike the happiness the simple shot had given him, this settled a numb, sick feeling in his chest. 

“Jesse!” A hand grabbed at his shoulder and jerked him around a short corner as the place where he had been standing was hailed in bullets. “Focus, McCree!”

“S-sorry. Shit. I’ll cover ya.” Jesse waited for a lull before twisting his arm just enough to point out and fire blindly. Hanzo used the cover to press in again, this time using a crate as cover. 

“Find whoever the fuck it is!” a hard, female voice yelled. It was raspy, like a smoker, with a sweet southern twang that made Jesse’s blood run cold. Marj. Before he could yell at Hanzo to be careful, the archer was moving again. Jesse gritted his teeth and, as he no longer had visual on his partner, was forced to come out from cover.

He shot a gang member as he attempted to come out of hiding, lugging around a shotgun that could have taken off half of their body in one blast. Sick worry wormed its way around Jesse’s insides. Hanzo was gone, and from the sounds of fighting, in a room further in. Cursing himself, he rushed forward.

The next room had been where they all were, and presumably where they did most of their living. A large table was filled with half empty and empty bottles of booze.It was surrounded by rickety chairs and illuminated with a few fat candles that flickered.  Another table was tilted on its side. Marj was snarling something fierce, and Jesse had a split second to duck for his own cover when she popped out from behind the overturned table and shot wildly. Fuck. 

Then, as if things couldn’t get more precarious, Hanzo stood and swept his bow in an arc. It cast a gust of wind, or so McCree figured, as the room was plunged into darkness. Holding his breath, Jesse listened as close as he could to the sounds of the other man breathing. Raspy and hollow. Three…. Did that include Hanzo?

A whistling sound made Jesse tense, but the thick ‘thunk’ of an arrow piercing wood unwound one knot of that terror. More silence and Jesse could hardly keep his heart from beating harder, his hand shaking around Peacekeeper. There was no moonlight to go by and unless Hanzo could somehow see in the dark then they were all on equally fucked footing.

An abrupt cry of pain made Jesse’s heart lurch painfully. “Hanzo!”

“Over there!” Marj called out sharply, and bullets peppered the cover McCree was hiding behind. Cursing sharply, he covered his head with his arms. Then, there it was again - another strangled cry. A very female voice screamed out in terror.

“Get back, demon!”

What?

Jesse peeked from behind the cover, unsure of what it could be. There, illuminating not much more than a few feet around himself, stood hanzo. Blue, icy cold light licked up and down his dragon tattoo. Not only that, but his eyes were the same cold, brilliant blue. 

Traveling the world gave you a lot of perspective, showed you sights that inspired awe and wonder. From the rainforests of Brazil to the Great Wall. From the ruins in Thailand to the modern megacity of Utopea. Jesse had seen sunsets that set the ocean on fire with color. He had seen sunrises when he thought he’d die that same night.

But the awe he felt, seeing Hanzo glow with a light all his own, left him speechless. Something dark colored up the archer’s cheek and Jesse could only guess it was blood. Blood of the two men he had taken down without so much as batting an eye. Marj, tough old Marj, was a babbling, terrified mess of snot and screaming.

“Marjorie Watson,” Hanzo’s cold, detached voice rolled over Jesse like a wave, making him shudder, “wanted Dead or Alive. You will be brought to justice.”

“Get away from me! Get the fuck away from me!” Her hysterical screaming did not seem to phase Hanzo. Without another word, the archer nocked another arrow and drew it back.

“So be it.” Ruthless. Once more he was in awe of that skill, deadly and powerful. The arrow didn’t whistle, with how short it had to travel, but it did give a meaty thunk that made Jesse swallow thickly. Awe and something else burned in his veins. The abrupt urge to grab Hanzo by the shoulders and kiss him, really kiss him, was almost overwhelming. 

“Holy shit sugar, that… That was somethin’ else. I’ve never see y’ --” Jesse’s voice cut off, strangled shut as a single gunshot rent the air around them. Fire and pain burst through the shoulder of his prosthetic, sending Jesse to his knees. There was shouting, yelling from outside. The three that had had gone off must have come back already. Blood, hot and sticky, pulsed from around his fingers. From the way the meat felt - wrong and twisted up like some beast had clawed at it - Jesse could tell it was a shotgun. It was a miracle his whole damn arm hadn’t come off.

“Jesse!” Hanzo vaulted the table, nocking an arrow as he dashed past his companion. The haze of panic and adrenaline battled in Jesse’s body. Blood loss was winning out. Slowly, he slumped forward and struggled to compress the wound. He’d go in shock if he wasn’t careful. But Hanzo, shit Hanzo needed help and he couldn’t do anything. Groaning, he gritted his teeth and tried to shuffle forward, fighting the pain and agony that sang across his body.

He must’ve blacked out. The next thing Jesse remembered was behind tucked against Hanzo’s chest, the archer whispering soothing things as they rode, hard and fast and none too comfortably, down a trail. He was too busy to ask if Hanzo knew, or why Hanzo looked so upset and worried. Hanzo glanced from the road down to Jesse, no doubt feeling the eyes on him.

“Hold on, Jesse. Please.” 

And boy, would he love to, but the darkness was calling in a voice too sweet to ignore. Jesse McCree closed his eyes.


	6. Change of Scenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: past character death, wounds, blood

Fatigue pulsed through every fiber of his being. Hanzo didn’t know when he had gotten into the doctor’s office at Armadillo. It had taken pounding on the door for a few minutes straight before a cranky, old white-haired man finally threw it open, glaring daggers at Hanzo and the man draped over his shoulder. Thankfully, seeing the state of dried and fresh blood all over Hanzo’s face, and how the makeshift bandage around Jesse’s shoulder was soaked, preemptively silenced the doctor’s complaints. 

The office was small, the front door opening into what had to be a waiting room with a nice couch and a couple of rickety chairs. There were a few doors, all of them closed tight when Hanzo had hauled Jesse inside. To the door closest to the one they came through, the doctor entered, motioning for them to follow. It was a simple office - a large metal table stretched out, covered in sterile butchers paper. A sink basin as well as three roll-around carts filled up the rest of the space. After carefully placing Jesse down, Hanzo had been shoved from the room, but not before the doctor mentioned using the CB in the waiting room.

It took a few tries, but he finally got John on the line. Between the call and waiting, he dozed. Little of the surgery could be heard. The walls were thick and probably reinforced for patient privacy. It was a barrier that only added fuel to his growing anxiety.

John’s arrival helped to eliminate his anxiety tremendously. Along with the bounty prize, the Sheriff brought fresh clothes. To John, Hanzo gave a portion of gold for horses; the rest he kept. They’d need it for the doctor. It all seemed to pass in a distant haze; as if his consciousness was watching from elsewhere. Disconcerting, but not altogether unknown to him. Sleeplessness was a terrible beast.

Once John left, he decided to explore. Adrenaline, despite his tired state, kept him wired and jumpy. The first closed door in the lobby led to a small, simple bathroom. Hanzo felt marginally more human once the blood and grim from the battle were off his body and changed into a clean set of clothing; the blood-soaked clothes were tossed into the trash. 

The other door opened into a kitchen/living area combo. It appeared the doctor lived here. Lucky. Hanzo was unsure what he could have done if the door hadn’t opened when it had. Perhaps he would have started a fire in the middle of town, just to get the attention of the townsfolk?

Snorting, he leaned heavily onto this thighs with his forearms and hung his head. A pounding headache drummed behind his eyelids. Even his eyes burned from forcing them open for so long. McCree was a reckless, ridiculous fool, but Hanzo couldn’t help but feel responsible. All that talk about trust and telling one another the plan, and then he’d gone off and dropped the gunslinger in utter darkness. He could still see the look of awe in Jesse’s face before it morphed into stunned pain. It twisted in his stomach, hanging heavy. If his stomach wasn’t empty, he might have retched.

Pressing the heels of his palms into his head, Hanzo sighed and tried to focus on the pains he felt. Itemizing each one and then convincing himself they weren’t as bad as they felt would certainly help. It would make his bad mood much better.

His self-reflection was cut short when the door to the operating theater was opened. Hanzo sat upright, holding his breath. The old man was covered in blood - why? Why was there so much blood? Hanzo’s breath stilled in his chest, dread making his blood run cold.

The doctor stopped wiping his hand off on his front and looked up at Hanzo. A slow, painful sigh pushed the strength from his fragile shoulders, a look of pity in his eyes.

“No. No.”

“I’m sorry, son. I really did try my best, but by the time you brought him here, it was… It was just so much blood ---”

Hanzo was on his feet, his eyes stinging with tears as he pushed past the old man, “No! Jesse, no! Jes….. Jesse?”

On the metal table was not Jesse. No. Hanzo tried to grapple with what he was seeing as he sagged against the door frame, clutching it for dear life. Shock numbed the pain he had been feeling completely away.

Genji was bloody and bruised, his brown eyes open and glazed. Blood stained both corners of his mouth and the blanket that was laid over his body. It was misshapen, valleyed in odd spots that should have been filled with meat and body. “Gen…” Hanzo’s voice hitched in his throat, panic rising in his chest. He had done this. He had done this to his brother. His own hands had cut Genji down.

A heavy hand on his shoulder broke his spiral of panic and pain. Behind him, clothed in an ornate black kimono, was a man Hanzo knew very, very well. Not a day went by when he did not remember the severe frown or the way his hair had greyed over his temples. Back then, Hanzo had sworn to shave his hair if his had done the same. When it happened, he had cut it down to fluffy tufts but could not make the final cuts. It was too painful, to lose something that reminded him so much of his father.

“Father? What are you doing here?”

Sojiro looked pale against the black cloth, his voice as rich and deep and commanding as Hanzo remembered, “I’ve come to escort your brother to Hell. You did the clan proud, ---” Static burst in Hanzo’s head, making him lurch forward. His eyes screwed shut as he yelped. “My death has led me to power elsewhere. When you pass on, you may join our new business venture. I am sure your mind will be of good use, ---”

More static. More pain. Hanzo dropped to his knees, his palms pressed against his ears as if to block out the sound, “S-stop! Father, stop!”

“Ah, I have forgotten…” Sojiro’s laugh was mirthless, his voice taking on a patronizing, cruel tone, “ _ Hanzo. _ Relinquishing the one gift your mother gave you. A shame. She loved that name, Hanzo.”

“It was no gift. It was a  _ curse _ .” Hanzo spat, panting through the agony. Another hand touched his other shoulder. Hanzo looked up and barely swallowed his scream. Genji’s milky brown eyes stared blankly at him, his bloody teeth revealed by a cold smile.

“Come now, brother. Do not be like that. I am sure we can be a happy family together in Hell. Is that not right?” Genji’s voice was smooth and natural in a way memories only afforded it.

“Right you are!” Sojiro’s burst into brilliant, merry laughter. It was almost as painful as the static. Hanzo wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and block them out, but something kept nagging him. Something important. Something bigger than the pain.

“Jesse.” Hanzo gasped, looking up at the two dead men, “Where is Jesse?”

Sojiro cocked his head to the side, “Who?”

“Jesse McCree!” Hanzo shrugged off their hands and stood slowly, fighting against the pull of gravity that seemed too strong. Stronger than it had a right to be. Hanzo struggled to stand tall, but succeeded, “My friend, my fiancé- Where is he?”

“Ah, the cowboy. Can you really call him your fiancé when he does not know about you, Hanzo?”

“Father, Jesse is shameless, I doubt he will care.” They laughed their snide little laughs, leaving Hanzo to shudder against the cold it brought him.

“Mm, well if you must know, ---” Again, the static. Hanzo sagged into the door frame, a cry of pain rent from his lungs. “Ah,  _ Hanzo _ . If you must know, I have already escorted him to Hell.”

“What? But… No…” 

“Do not worry Hanzo.” Genji’s voice took on an oddly mechanical sound. Cold agony burst through his chest as a sword was shoved through. A green bladed katana, the arcing energy of a dragon dancing from it, “You will see him soon. And then, you can tell him the truth of who you are.”

“Hanzo.”

“Hanzo.”

He dropped to his knees, choking on blood. His vision wavered and try as he might, he was slipping, growing colder by the second. 

“Hanzo.”

“Hanzo.”

They were just saying his name now. Like they wanted to torment him with it. Like they were trying to drown him in the sound, denied as he was for years of it. 

“ _ Young man _ !” Hanzo jolted upright, a fine trickle of panic induced sweat trailed down his cheek. The old doctor held his shoulder in a white-knuckled death grip, shaking it roughly to wake him, it would seem. He must have been trying for some time, as the old man looked tired and irritated. “Finally! Lord, you could sleep through a thunderstorm, now couldn’t you?”

“Wha…?” Where was his father? Where was Genji? Where was -- “Jesse!” Hanzo snapped back to reality like a light switch being flipped.

Chuckling, the doctor nodded, “Your partner is fine. He’s just gettin -- Woah there!” Hanzo didn’t wait to be told. He stood and pushed past the old man, making his way across the small waiting room.

True to his word, McCree was there. Awake and haggard looking, but there. A biotic field was sitting on the table, pulsing golden energy around him in a wide circle. Relief cut the tension like wires that had been keeping Hanzo going, and he leaned into the doorframe. It was oddly familiar to what he had done in that nightmare, but now in the waking world and without the prospect of Jesse far out of reach in Hell.

“Hey there, darlin’. Guess I got myself a little…” Jesse’s sheepish grin started to falter and then fade. Hanzo wondered, absentmindedly, when that was. What would ever take the smile from McCree’s face? What could make that unflappable cowboy look worried? “Hanzo? You okay, partner?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, though it didn’t sound convincing. Hanzo pushed himself to stand up, body itching to close the space between them, to see for himself if Jesse was real or fake; if this was not a continuation of that same nightmare. He was half expecting Sojiro to burst into the clinic and tell Hanzo he had dishonored the family by falling for a stinky cowman.

Oh.

Sucking in a quick breath, Hanzo nodded and forced a faint laugh. It sounded hollow to his ears, but it was better than the alternative. That, Hanzo had no idea what  _ that _ would even sound like. “I am fine. I see you are awake.” Hanzo winced; if he could slap himself in the face he would. Jesse’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin.  Clearing his throat roughly, Hanzo finally muttered,“I am… Glad.”

“Now, y’sure you’re okay, partner? Need doc t’look you over? He’s a pretty steady hand.” Hanzo could not respond before he was pushed to the side as the old man stepped in.

“Yes well, I’d have to be to get all those slugs out of your shoulder. Now, given what Marston told me about you two, I can tell you that you’re going to need to take it easy for the rest of the day.” The old man was grabbing supplies from one of the roll around cupboards and shoving them into a large dark brown leather bag, “You both are lucky this happened while I was still here.”

“What do you mean?” Hanzo asked, suspicion clear in his tone.

“I’m runnin’ low on supplies, and since shipments are a little hit or miss, I’m off to the west to see if I can’t wrangle up some supplies. I and a few others are going.” He stopped his stuffing when the biotic field ended. Grabbing a small paper sack from a metal tray, he handed it to Jesse, “These are the last biomeds I have. This afternoon I want you to use that field in there. Then, at night, put the patches on. The stitches are nanites, so they’ll fade as you heal.”

“Thanks doc, I owe ya one.” Grunting, the doctor continued on the task of filling his bag with supplies. Hanzo was uncertain, but a simple trip usually did not call for  _ that _ much gauze. “I’ll get myself dressed and then we can be on our way.”

“Let your fiancé help.” It was comical that they both stilled at the same time. Thankfully, the old man was too busy with his own worries to spare a glance to either party. “I might be a widower of many years, but I know a thing or two about relationships. He’ll be happy to help you.” Without another word, he picked up his leather sack with both hands and left the operating theater, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

They remained still, at least until Hanzo got his wits about him again. Shaking out of the stupor, he walked over to Jesse and inspected the wound. 

“Now, Han, y’don’t gotta do that. I know the ol’ fella said ya should, but I’m not gonna hold you to that.”

Humming, Hanzo shook his head and found the shirt Marston had brought in that morning. It was a simple green, flannel button down - one of Jesse’s favorite flannels. “I know I do not have to,” Jesse look poised to argue more, but silenced when he was given a sharp stare, “I want to.”

“Oh, uh… Thanks.” It took a little maneuvering, but they managed to get the shirt on and buttoned across McCree’s barrel chest. “I’m sorry ‘bout this. Gettin’ shot and all. I should have been paying better attention.”

“Yes, you should have.” Jesse groused softly under his breath, making Hanzo smile ever so slightly. He pushed Jesse’s good shoulder gently, “But I am sorry. I should have told you the plan. You had every right to be,” awestruck sounded too self-aggrandizing, “shocked by what you saw.”

“Shit, your eyes Hanzo they…” A deep concern crossed Jesse’s face, darkening his brow as he scrutinized Hanzo with a closeness that made his skin crawl. Abruptly, it ended with Jesse blinking, looking to the side, and gulping, “They were blue. Like the dragons.”

That is what he focuses on? Chuckling in relief, Hanzo took a step back and cocked his head to the side. A motion, he realized with some discomfort, mimicked his father’s ghost from the nightmare. “Yes? I had used a sonic arrow to see where the three were hiding. That was simply my lenses reading the pulses.”

“O-oh.” Seeing Jesse blush was still surprising, but endearing. Quietly, he shook his head, “Was that why the dragons were glowing too?”

“Ah, the better of the questions,” Hanzo teased. One would think he had unlocked the secrets of the universe, with how Jesse gaped and choked out a laugh. “No, the dragons wanted to be free. I was… wound up.”

“Why?”

Now  _ that _ was a question. They usually hid docile below the surface, only rising in times of need. Hanzo did not  _ need _ them last night. The only reason that came to mind was how Jesse and he had crossed the yard - that closeness, andthe closeness spent scouting. It might have awakened them. Or perhaps they wanted to show off for the silly cowboy. Hanzo shrugged, his smile easy, though tired. “I have no idea. The dragons, while in my family for centuries, are still largely a mystery. Come now. We can get provisions and return to the ranch. John agreed to purchase horses for us.”

“Did he now? Kind fella. Aw shit, what about his?”

Considerate. “They were retrieved as well as the corpse of Marjorie Watson. A small portion of the bounty was paid for your surgery and medicine. I gave half of what was left to John. That leaves us a few hundred to get the supplies we need.”

Jesse’s grin could have refueled the sun. Its warmth eased Hanzo’s fatigue, “Shoot. More’n’ enough! Well then, partner, let’s go shoppin’.”

 

\---

 

Shopping took no time at all, and neither did packing their meager belongings away in more travel-ready packs. With all their foreseeable duties taken care of, McCree did what he seemed prone to do - fidget. As much as Hanzo tried to reign in his companion, it became clear that sitting idle, even while injured, was not an option. Eventually, fed up with his hovering, questions, and digging around the house, Abby kicked them both out.

“Go find somethin’ to entertain y’selves with!”

Hanzo wasn’t very keen on the idea of leaving the house. Jesse was healing, after all. Miss Marston’s words brooked no reproach. They were given food and water and told to come back around supper. At the very least there was a timetable. And if he was honest, it was pleasant to be out of the house. Even in the heat, Hanzo felt better doing something than waiting around.

Together they prepared the horses they had rode the night prior and set out, Jesse taking point. It was odd to watch the back of the man in front of him. Normally Jesse slouched. A lazy habit that drove Hanzo up a wall. It was the first thing that, upon meeting his companion, he had noted. A slouch, slovenly appearance, a dreadful drawl (he was corrected sometime later that it was a twang), and a penchant for flirting. Over time, all of it had faded. Jesse was delightfully witty, a talented man. A deadly hand with a heart of gold. Hanzo squeezed the reins in his hand, centering himself.

Seeing Jesse now, sitting tall and proud, the serape fluttering around his shoulders, against a backdrop of low brush sage, well-worn dirt paths trodden by horse hooves and old-fashioned tires - it stirred something in Hanzo. A desire to capture the moment forever, to lock it away safe and sound where nothing bad could happen to it. To it, or the rider.

“Where are we headed?” Hanzo blurted it out, eager to get something to interrupt the never-ending thoughts that poured down on him. They stopped like a flip had been switched when Jesse smiled over his shoulder at him. So wide and welcoming. Everything stopped. No breathing, no heart beating.  _ What’s gotten into me? _

_ What changed? _

_ Is this new behavior? Or am I awake enough to see it fully? _

“A surprise. Since Deadlock is around an’ all, there’s a few places I can’t take ya, but there are some things I’m sure you’ll like. My secret hideaways.” Jesse, who could flirt a straight man into bed, who could make the rain stop with a smile, who could have just about anyone as his own if he tried - that same ridiculous cowboy looked  _ shy. _

Muted by surprise and a tenderhearted emotion that he feared to name, Hanzo only nodded. It was sufficient. Thank God. After a few steadying gulps of air, the thoughts cleared and he could see straight again, could think straight again. It was needed, as the distance between Jesse and himself grew. Hanzo could not hide his frown, urging his horse faster.

And then Jesse was going just a little faster too. “What are you doing?”

“Ya ever raced before? Back when you’d go ridin’?” Hanzo scoffed, loud enough to carry over the horse's hooves and the whipping of the wind. Jesse’s whoop of laughter embarrassed him, but also fed him the courage to keep going, “Best damn part! Now listen - stay to the wide paths. They’re the safest.”

“Jesse, you’re still recovering this is -- Jesse!” heedless to his warnings, the gunslinger’s horse took off. Follow? Give chase? Or pretend it was beneath him? 

Be the Hanzo who was raised prim and proper. The Hanzo who had only known racing horses as a means of betting and frivolous lifestyles. The Hanzo who would have turned his nose up at the very idea of giving chase to anyone.

Or

Be the Hanzo he told Abby about. The man who lost so much, but was working on getting it back. The man who had found something worth living for in a strange, archaic cowboy. The man who would laugh and call after Jesse.

When it was clear Jesse was not being followed, he slowed his gallop into a gentle trot and turned around. They stopped, still some distance away. Hanzo watched, stuck on the precipice of something, something unnamable and terrifying. 

As always, there was Jesse McCree, willing to bridge the gap. To go that extra mile. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at Hanzo, “You comin’? Ya don’t gotta if you don’t wanna. I get it. Didn’t really tell ya what the plan was an’ all, but I…”

_ You don’t gotta let it hurt you. _ Jesse’s words from the kitchen, two days ago, rang in his mind. 

Hanzo made a decision.

The reigns were wound tight in his hands. With a single, definite jerk, they snapped in the air, “Ya!” His horse took off, an excited whiny cutting the air. Hanzo leaned in, glad for the cowboy hat and happier yet it had a string to keep it on his head. The horse cut down the track, forcing Jesse’s to rear back in surprise.

“Woah! Hanzo? Hanzo!”

He was a blur, but Hanzo caught a glimpse of those wide, surprised and delighted eyes. Another memory to cherish forever, “You wanted a race, cowboy, and a race you’ll get!”

“Hell fucking yes!”

It didn’t take long for Jesse to catch up. As much as Hanzo wanted to keep pushing forward, to keep the breakneck speed, the land was foreign. Simply keeping to ‘the path’ was not easy when it was unclear where the path was or where it would take them. They paced each other, but he always lagged behind, never passing the rump of Jesse’s horse. After all, Hanzo didn’t know the land, it was wild in a way that the cities he had visited never were. Raw nature held seductive mystery, but danger. What if one turn led to a cliff? It would be better to follow Jesse, to keep close, but never to overtake.

“C’mon, Shimada. What happened to your excitement?”

Hanzo huffed a breathless laugh, skin tingling where the warm wind slapped at his cheeks, “I do not know where we are or what comes next. How could I possibly race under these circumstances?”

“World is full of scarier things, Hanzo.” Jesse corralled them down a split path, going to the left instead of the right. Dusty hills of dry soil and prairie grass were peppered with trees. Real trees. Odd to think a two-hour ride from here would get them back into the sandy desert. “If ya don’t know where you’re goin’, forge your own path!”

It was a childish solution. One that could hardly work in any circumstance, but especially not here. And yet… Hanzo swallowed, invigorated by the way the air rushed around them, the feeling of the land being gobbled below the feet of the powerful horse. Their road was rough and rutted, but the sure-footed beast kept plowing along like it was fine. Around his thighs he could feel the horse’s muscles move and shift, every pound of a hoof sending an electrical charge straight to the top of Hanzo’s head. A tingling, excited sensation grew from between his shoulder blades.

“Jesse McCree, you are a terrible influence!” It was just the wind, but it sounded like Genji’s delighted laughter. In actuality, it was his own. Hunching forward, he clicked his heels against the horse’s flank. They took off, breaking away from Jesse. Without a person in front, the task of navigating a path in unknown territory loomed for a moment. Just a moment.

_ Forge your own path. _ So simple, but elegant.

He let go of the worry, allowed it to slip freely behind him like the golden silk scarf in his hair. Attached, but trailing, flapping in the wind as Hanzo faced forward and took control of his life.

They came upon another fork: to the right leading up a steep embankment or to the left easy and smooth. Hanzo kept left and marveled as the veritable hill of earth rose on either side, their path more like a child scooping out the center of a mound of dirt. Stretched from one side to the other was a rope and plank bridge. Hanzo felt the brief burst of cool air from its shadow as they raced on.

Delight split his face into a wild grin, following the motion of the land as it curved hard to the right and spit them out into a large, open marsh. Trees of all sizes were scattered around as if a lazy gardener had tossed out their seeds mindlessly. Hot, humid air smacked Hanzo in the face, followed by the lush scent of mud and decaying earth. And although the grass was still bone dry and brittle, it was much greener and softer looking by the murky water. Hanzo took it all in at a flash, feeling more than seeing it all. 

“Head to the right!” There was a small path, much less traveled, veering off up a hill to their right and into the dense trees. Hanzo took the turn, allowing the horse to modulate their speed as it picked around a few stumps and rocks. Cool shade made the sticky air worse, but still a relief. It reminded him of home, of the muggy summers spent lounging in forests while Genji tried to catch bugs. 

Their mad dash lead them through the thick trees and out into the open again, the humid air shifting into the dry heat Hanzo was unused to. Not for the first time, he was glad Jesse had bought him the hat. Bought it with what little money they had at that time, granted, but the thought was sweet. He could cherish it now, really enjoy it, and the shade it cast, with higher appreciation.

“Focus, Shimada!” Jesse ripped past him, whooping and laughing. The land before them was filled with the dusty browns and muted greens of the desert, the sagebrush, and cacti forming clumps of vegetation between large swaths of hard, hot dirt. The land here looked more like gentle, rolling hills of water. Each dip and drop a subdued crest. Hanzo wondered how they were formed as he chased after the cowboy, suddenly more taken by the scenery than their racing.

Eventually, he gave up on it entirely and allowed the horse to walk along. It wasn’t hard to know where Jesse was, considering the plume of dust in the air cast by his racing. With no wind, it hung around for some time before dissipating. 

The hills gave way to a gentle slope. Hanzo could see a new throng of trees, and also - the sound of rushing water. The river? It must be. Jesse was standing in the shade, smiling at Hanzo in a way that made his stomach flutter and twist.

“Well ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hard to believe they are sore with how much beauty is around here.” Hanzo groaned softly as he dismounted, aches and pains flaring along his back. Jesse’s horse was on the river’s shore, drinking heavily, and Hanzo’s went to join, leaving the two riders to rest in the cool, refreshing shade. Resting against a tree, Hanzo allowed his eyes to close. This heat was draining, more than he was used to. 

Jesse seemed fine. Which, speaking of, “You come here often, partner?” His thick twang cut through the peace, “Must be from Tennessee, ‘cause you’re the only ten aye see.”

Groaning in disgust, Hanzo shoved his face in his hands, “Spare me, fool.”

“Damn right I’m a fool. A fool for ya.” Oh God, how many of these horrible pick up lines did Jesse have?

With his face still in his hands, Hanzo only knew Jesse was approaching by the soft jingle jangle of spurs on the ground. “Did it hurt, baby?”

“Jesse, I swear I will kill you if you say ‘when you fell from’--”

The gunslinger’s voice rose above Hanzo’s grumblings, “When ya burst your way up from hell, outta the earth t’claim my soul?”

“What?” Dropping his hands, he was greeted with a much closer Jesse, wearing a shit-eating grin. If swagger could become incarnate, it would be that man at that very moment. So absolutely pleased. Hanzo burst into laughter before quickly slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle it.

Of course, it just encouraged his companion, who was practically purring by this point, “Cause darlin’, ya gotta be a demon. Ain’t no way an angel could look so hot ‘n’ temptin’.”

Wheezing. He was laughing now to the point of wheezing. Half of Hanzo felt embarrassed, but the other half was falling apart. He was hunched over, giggling madly, “I… I don’t know who you think y-you are!”

“Oh, where are my manners?” With a flourish, the cowboy took off his hat and placed it against his chest, “They call me ‘the man of your dreams’.”

Hanzo righted himself, rubbing tears from his eyes. Taking in a deep gulp of air, he straightened his shoulders. Peace. Beauty. Control. In his mind’s eye he watched each word form, allowing them to soak up the remnants of his laughter. When his eyes opened again, he had only steely resolve. Chin high, chest puffed out. “Well, ‘Man of my dreams’, I am afraid you are too late.” Jesse’s grin faltered. Hanzo stepped closer, keeping his eyes on the gunslinger, “For you see, I am already engaged.”

The look of shock was comical, how it drained Jesse’s face of color as his jaw dropped, “Yer, what?

“That’s right,” Hanzo softened, his stern frown turning mischievous, “but you knew this, did you not? As I am engaged to  _ you. _ ”

“What, you’re… Oh. OH.” 

 

\---

 

They ended up below the trees, laid out on Jesse’s serape. For a woolen cape, it was rather soft and comfortable. Still on the scratchy side, but nothing too terrible. For pillows, Hanzo had taken off the horses’s saddlebags, and without contents, they were comfortable enough to prop up their heads.

It was quiet, but calm. A rest that Hanzo needed after the poor sleep from the previous night. Memories of the nightmare still bounced around the edges of reality. It was still jarring, even years after his death, to see his father in his dreams. Hanzo stirred, trying to push the cold claws of desperation and pain away. This was a peaceful, good day. 

“Used to come here all the time,” Jesse’s rumbling timbre bowled through the dark thoughts, clearing Hanzo’s mind effortlessly. He turned his head and stared unabashedly at the cowboy. Jesse was watching the sky that flashed between the leaves of the trees, the mosaic flashes of blue against green. From this angle, Hanzo could see the way his thick eyelashes rested against his cheeks. There were crows feet in his eyes and subtle, soft lines around his mouth. This close, he could see the smattering of freckles, faded almost into his dark skin tone. Wispy, deft strands of silver wove into the messy brown. He’d never say it, but Jesse had walls and boundaries that kept him safe. Here and now, they did not exist. It was a rare treat to see this all, and only those granted these sacred moments would know of the wisps, the crows feet, the freckles, and the myriad of other stories Jesse’s face held. How many men and women had the opportunity, the pleasure of doing so?

Subconsciously his fingers touched the gray wings on the side of his head, wishing not for the first time that he could be brave enough to shave it away. They remained, a reminder of what he once was and of who he was meant to be. They were a silver shadow that colored the future.

“This was my secret place.” Jesse whispered, but each syllable grew in strength and volume, “I would watch the world roll by, listen to the stream and know there was always somethin’ bigger than me - than the troubles in me. There were seasons and critters and rivers. There was day and night. Made me feel small, but I needed it.” Jesse’s ramblings were as rolling and deep as the river he mentioned, though Hanzo felt more interested in listening to the cowboy’s waters. “You know what I mean? Like I… I was too big. Like it was all too much all the damn time. Lost.”

“Yes.” Lost was a way to describe his young adulthood. Smothered, however, was far more accurate. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Jesse finally looked at him, his eyes searching Hanzo’s face for something. He had the urge to tilt his chin up, to don his dragon armor and become the princely, unflappable heir. It faded with the cowboy’s bitter, sad smile, “Reckon y’do, darlin’. You know much ‘bout Deadlock? Seein’ as we’re here and Lord knows we might run into more of ‘em.”

“My knowledge was limited to what could or could not impact the clan. As for how it impacted  _ you _ , that I know little of...” Hanzo hesitated, their tentative peace and closeness as fragile as a glass feather. A slip and it would break apart, “I…” Hanzo breathed out the word, finding the courage to speak in the depths of the cowboy’s eyes, “I would not be opposed to listen to it, but if it were to upset you, then I would understand.”

“Ain’t ya the sweetest damn thing?” Hanzo was sure there was a wildfire hot blush spreading over his face, but Jesse continued on unfettered. “Well… I was there for years. Joined when I was fourteen, left when I was seventeen. Life there was… Chaotic. Hell. Always pushin’ for more, askin’ for more.”

Jesse rolled his head back to stare at the sky once more, leaving Hanzo to wallow alone in the words. “I was happy t’be wanted somewhere. At first, they made me feel like I meant somethin’. My skills an’ all were praised t’high heaven. Then they started gettin’ mean. Knew they had their hooks in me and just kept digging. Sweet and cruel, until I woulda smiled as they bled me dry.”

Hanzo was no stranger to emotional manipulation, having used it and had it used against him. Still, hearing it from Jesse hurts. It hurts as if he’d been slapped. He was not so naive as to believe his pain was the only in the world, that his aches and hurts were the worst. No, the dark thoughts always reminded him of his weakness, that his burdens were nothing compared to others. Still, Jesse never showed the signs of abuse that Hanzo could so easily spot. Jesse was affable and kind and good-hearted. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and physically smooth away the scars others had left etched into the cowboy. Foolish, for more than one reason.

“Thought I was better off dead when they took me an’ John in. Told Gabi right to his fuckin’ face that he might as well kill me then.” A humorless laugh made Hanzo twitch, shift against the serape. Its gentle scratch helped to ground him.

“Gabi?”

Jesse paused, caught off guard by the question. “Oh, uh - Gabriel Reyes. Commander of Blackwatch. He was on the op to take down Deadlock. Turned into a clusterfuck of epic proportions. Not only did most of ‘em get away, John was dying and I was tellin’ him new and creative ways to use his gun to pleasure himself.” Hanzo couldn’t help but snort at that. It helped to soothe the anxiety he felt at hearing that name. Gabriel Reyes was very well known. A war hero, a black ops commander, a traitor. Jesse’s eyes softened in a way he had never seen, with a fondness that twisted some ugly emotion in his heart. Jealousy, perhaps.

Of a ghost?

“I used t’run drugs and stuff, but mostly I was the lookout. Took long shifts outside, doin’ nothing but bake in the damn sun. Shoot shit when told. Had t’seduce a few folks.” Jesse’s somber quiet was louder than an atomic bomb, his grieving words bleeding into Hanzo’s mind.“Always left m’feeling like I was nothin’. Just a waste of space an’ time. But then I was out and healin’, so I guess in the end it ain’t so bad.”

A strong front, an easy grin. Hanzo could see the out for what it was. If the conversation was too much, Jesse was giving him the option to walk away, metaphorically.

“The clan… Did the same. I… You probably know much from Genji.” It was impossible to bring up one without drawing up the other. Even now, Genji still mostly existed there, in those palace walls and on the ground bleeding to death. Even now, after months and months of time shared in the halls of Gibraltar and drop ships and safe houses.

Jesse shrugged and shifted to his side, his eyes never leaving Hanzo’s face. “Tell me ‘bout it anyway, darlin’. It’s your story, not his.”

Oh, the bitterness in his laugh was sharp, but Hanzo could not help it. “It is a bad story, but so be it. You asked, cowboy.” In truth, he did not, but he was not corrected.

“Clan life was like the military, from what I understand. I was told to conform, so I did. I was told to please my father and mother, so I did. When I did not, I was punished. When I did good, I was rewarded.” It sounded peaceful and clean and sterile. Not at all the way the memories dash across his mind’s eye, tattered and faded with blunt pain and strangled cries. “But even if I did good, I was not praised. There was always room for improvement. The worst was the silence.”

It would echo on and on and on in the long halls. Servants who would avoid his eye. Elders who would only glare. His father who would remain as impassive as stone, even when yelled at. Hanzo could scream himself hoarse, and on more than one time he had, but it did not change. “They wanted all of me, every inch and piece of skin and soul, but there were parts that did not work. Things I could not accept. So even I, the perfect heir, was forced to endure their punishments. They were never quick and easy as a beating. They lasted days, sometimes weeks, depending on the severity.”

Hanzo rested a hand against his chest, looking now to the billowing leaves above them. If he wiggled his fingers ever so slightly he would feel the soft scars below his pec. Its mate sat on the other side, mostly hidden from view by the kyudo-gi. Ten years, and still sometimes he woke up and marveled at the freedom. “They tried to break me for so long. I do not think Genji understood that. He was quick to escape, but I was snared my whole life. Escape was not possible. Surviving was…” Tears abruptly clogged his throat, making him choke. Emotions sprang forth as those dark thundercloud thoughts rolled in, clotting the sun.

Without asking, Jesse grabbed his hand. Hanzo could only hiccup, fighting back the urge to sob.  _ Weak, you’re being weak. Be stronger. Stand taller. _ “J-jesse, what are --?”

“We’re fiancés. Holdin’ your hand is something I oughta be able to do.” Joy, fragile and tiny, hiccuped in Hanzo’s soft giggle. Jesse’s hands were warm and calloused. They were bigger, a totally different shape from his own. Larger, thicker fingers with a meatier palm. Hanzo’s were slightly smaller, with longer fingers. Still equally calloused. It felt nice. Safe.

They remained like that, hands together as Hanzo calmed down. It wasn’t a confession, but if Jesse was smart and read between the lines, he could understand what Hanzo was hinting at.

And Jesse was, arguably, one of the smartest men Hanzo had ever met. 

“You both went through hell, but a different kind. Genji was a fighter, he had that chance, but you’re right Hanzo. For you, it weren’t that easy and they… kept you down for a good long while. Damn darlin’,” Jesse sighed in awe, his smile shaky not from insincerity, but the emotion that wavered behind his eyes, “Am I  _ mighty _ glad you survived.”

For perhaps the first time in ten years, Hanzo was too.

 

\---

 

The rest of the day was spent there on the riverbank, sharing food and chatting about lighter topics. Jesse learned that Hanzo has a thing for piercings. Hanzo learned Jesse can play guitar. It was a calm, warm day spent in pleasant company that left Hanzo feeling buzzed and eager for the rest of the trip. Rejuvenated for what would come next.

“So I think we should name the horses,” Jesse announced as they rode back towards the Marston ranch. They took it slow, the sun going down and the coolness of evening making the day infinitely more pleasant. It was nice to ride side by side with Jesse. “Ain’t right t’go ridin’ and not have named ‘em.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes, but we do not know the name of these horses either.”

“Now,” the gunslinger pouted. It looked positively adorable. Hanzo did nothing to hide his wide grin. “That ain’t the same, Hanz! These ain’t our horses.”

They rode into the ranch. Jack was on the porch, reading something, Abby was in the yard hanging up washing, and John stood beside two horses. Both Mustangs, but one a gorgeous palomino and the other a soft pinto. 

“Damn, John! You came through.” Jesse dismounted quickly and jogged over to where the Sheriff stood. Hanzo was slower, eyeing the uneasy tension that lied in John’s shoulders. It was subtle, but enough to make Hanzo worried. Or perhaps it was nothing; just the talk of the clan stirring up the bad memories.

“Was there ever any doubt, Jes?” John nodded as Hanzo approach them, the horse’s reins in his hands. “I do got some… unpleasant news for you boys.”

“Oh?” Jesse’s good cheer evaporated like a drop of water in the Sahara.

“Doc was turned around a handful of miles north of Armadillo. Told t’go back. Huge army barricade. Said they were armed t’the teeth. Probably woulda been shot dead if not for the swiss cross on his bag.”

“Army blockade.” Hanzo breathed the word, head spinning at the implications. Their trip unfortunately got much more complicated. “We’re stuck.”

“Now, see here!” Abby’s sharp voice cut their gloomy talk. She was smirking, her hip jutted out, “Just ‘cause one way is blocked don’t mean all ways are blocked! We’ll get y’boys outta here, I promise. We’ll do some brainstormin’.”


	7. Fools Rush In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: animal death, wounds, ptsd/war

“My thinkin’ is this,” Abby stood before them in the little living room, her hands behind her back as she walked around. To Jesse, she looked very much like a Marshal preparing her troops for war. It might not be that far off, seeing as how the army had blocked just about every single method of escape. “If you can’t get to Cali, nor go to the north, and heading back where you came from won’t work neither, then you go south.”

“South.” Jesse mulled the word over and found it sour, but not unpalatable. Hanzo glanced between them before fixing Abigail with a serious stare.

“From my understanding, the south is a mostly irradiated wasteland. Why south?” In a matter of seconds, Hanzo was replaced with ‘the archer’: the master tactician. He sat upright, back straight and chin held high. Genji loved to tease that was his ‘boardroom’ persona. The thought, unbidden, almost made Jesse laugh. Right now would be a bad time to start giggling.

Abby’s grin was triumphant, like a kid revealing her big secret. “Mexico. Ain’t  _ no _ way the troops’ll be down there.”

One of Hanzo’s eyebrows arched and Jesse had to fight the urge to chuckle. Hanzo paid him no mind. “And the army blockade won’t be down there?”

“No.” Marston spoke for the first time since they came home. Dinner had been a silent affair, something that set Jesse on edge. More on edge than he had been that day. “No one goes south unless they’ve lost their damn mind.”

Wordlessly, Hanzo asked the next question with a puzzled look shot at him. Jesse picked up the slack, reminded by John and Abby’s somewhat cryptic answers that they had forgotten that Hanzo knew nothing, or next to nothing, about the region. “During the war lotta mines and other things were buried in the territory between Mexico ‘n the US. Plus, there’s always reports of gang activity, like Los Muertos or Deadlock, down that way. Makes it dangerous t’go there, even for the army.”

“I see.” Hanzo looked further conflicted by the response, but Jesse made no attempt to clarify his words. It was a foolhardy plan, but it was beginning to look like their only one after all. Going down south would drop them into Mexico proper, and from there they could get a signal and alert Overwatch to what was going on. “I do not believe we have much choice.”

“Not unless y’wanna fight the US army.” Jesse’s smile was pained and thin. Hanzo mirrored it perfectly, though he added a brief laugh.

“No. I do not think even our combined skills could pull off such a feat.” Shame, but true. At the very least they knew where they were going. Even if it meant having to test their luck against the unknown.

They started south the next morning before the sun broke the horizon and blessed the world with a blanket of heat. They rode side by side, allowing the horses to take a casual pace. Jesse was in no rush to reach the border. What John said was true - the region was rife with conflict, and if there were no bombs or omnics, then the chance of running into a cache of Los Muertos was just as big and just as bad.

"This is beautiful..." Hanzo's reverent words broke Jesse's brooding thoughts. Glancing at the archer made his heart race. The usual resting bitch face that the elder Shimada wore was smoothed out into a look of awe and wonder. His eyes were comically wide, but the way they sparkled in the rising light choked any laughter. Dawn's first rays of light cast cutting, sharp shadows across Hanzo's face, highlighting his cheekbones and strong jaw.

Jesse felt something growing in his chest. Growing like a weed in the dry desert, rained on for the first time that year.

And it scared him. It scared him because it made him vulnerable. Without thinking, Jesse nodded. "Yeah," He breathed, eyes still locked onto Hanzo's profile, "sure is a beaut."

Hanzo looked at him then, a faint frown folding that enchanted smoothness. Jesse felt like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Is something the matter?"

"Nah, nothin'." Snapping his head straight forward, Jesse cleared his throat and hoped against hope that the warm blush on his cheeks was unnoticeable.

But of course, the landscape and the rising sun were beautiful. As the sun crest the tops of the shallow mountains that hung in near the horizon, the sun’s rays burned across the ridge, as if on fire. Oranges, yellows, and wine purples smudged the sky. If the feeling of coming up for air after holding your breath underwater had a visual representation - this was it. Relief, sweet and satisfying, bringing with it the rush of safety from the darkness.

They rode in silence, the land changing from the sagebrush and prairie grass to low-lying cactus, yucca, and stubby bushes. Dirt, red and brown and yellow mixed with coarse sand. While neither spoke, it wasn't awkward.   
"When we first drove through here," Hanzo's soft voice broke Jesse's roaming thoughts, pulling him back into the fold of reality swiftly. He gave the archer a soft grunt of acknowledgment. "I thought this land was desolate and ugly. A literal hell on Earth."

Snorting, the cowboy let out a long-suffering sigh and thumbed the brim up his hat up, "Reckon y’ain’t  the first nor the last fella who'll think that."

Humming softly, Hanzo continued, "But I was wrong."

"Were ya now?" When he looked to his companion, Jesse couldn't help but notice the man was staring off into the distance again, his forehead wrinkled in thought. Hanzo didn't respond right away, but that didn't bother him. Sometimes a fella needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

"There's much here that is hidden in plain sight," Hanzo explained with a look of a man trying to untie a knot with his mind. They approached a sharp corner, the path they were on dipping down a steep slope. Already the sound of water tickled his eardrum. The river, and bridge were getting ever closer. "From the windows of the car, it blurred together. Now I can see the cacti and the different colored sands. Now I can see the animals that struggle to survive. I can see the people, and tell that their will to continue is strong. Stronger than the bombs."

Jesse shifted, rolling his shoulders. Already the top of the large metal bridge was coming into view. So far, so good. "But the land's all messed up. Radiated t'hell, and if it aint, it's scarred."

"Scars are nothing to be ashamed of." Hanzo's response was easy and light. "To be scared shows you have lived. There is a ceramics artform in Japan called Kintsugi. You take pieces that have ---"

Jesse's hand jerked up, cutting off Hanzo's words. Sweat began to bead on the back of his neck. Here, falling closer and closer to the ocean floor, the darkness was still settled in. It was a deep, tremendous blue that normally would have been fine, but his sixth sense was kicking into high gear. Something was off about this.

"Thought I heard somethin'." Only their quiet breathing and the soft snuffles of their horses broke the still morning air. Then, at the end of their path, Jesse saw it.

It was in poor repair, dented to hell, and rusted. But just catching the slow turn of the bastion unit's turret made his heart leap into his throat, cold dread icing his veins. 

Hanzo hissed softly beside him, going rigid. "Can he see us?" Hanzo's whisper was softer than their breathing, but it still made Jesse wince.

"Shh!"  
"Jesse," Hanzo's words were insistent. A warm hand grabbed at his forearm, squeezing, "Can it _see_ us?"

"Dunno, sugar plum. We need to back up. Turn the horse around nice 'n easy." Jesse made the gentle motions first, pleased that their new mounts were not prone to whinnying as much as other horses he had ridden. Hanzo copied the motion perfectly. "There we go. Nice and easy. Nothin' t' fear."

Each slow step was agony. Jesse was sure that at any second they would be filled with enough bullet holes that one could use their carcass to strain pasta. Each clop of the horse's hooves on the soft dirt sounded like a shotgun shell blasting in his eardrum. His mechanical hand squeaked the leather riding lead in his hands. "Almos' there." Was he talking to Hanzo or himself? It was unclear even to McCree.

They rounded the corner at the top of the slope with the same trepidation of a man walking out onto the surface of a frozen lake. Any second it could give way, dunking them headfirst into a fight that neither Hanzo nor himself were prepared to handle.

Gabriel Reyes had been Jesse's mentor, damn near a father figure. The PTSD of the Omnic War used to come over him like a bomb - no warning, just an explosion. Only Jack or Jesse could be around Gabe like that. Jack for companionship, his partner during the war and after. For Jesse, it was someone to tell. A willing ear, a sympathetic touch. Gabe's stories always started the same way.

_"It was just one, Mijo. The newbies, they'd see it and think 'it's just one omnic',_ " Even in his memory, Gabe's laugh was brittle and hysteric, his eyes shining, _"It's never fucking one. Don't ever forget that, Mijo. It's never Fucking._ _One."_

Jesse's breath caught in his chest when they could finally see the road they had walked down. Softly to his right Hanzo cursed in Japanese. Not a language he spoke, but the passion and terror in those words he agreed with entirely.  
_"See the thing is, mijo, they'd send out these little fuckers. They're cute at first, kind of like a drone, comprende?"_ Gabe loved to wax poetic about the ways omnics worked. Sometimes Jesse would just nod and pretend to listen, but thank the Lord that years of the same song and dance had gotten the words in his mind, hammered them down. _"As soon as those things spotted you, all hell would break loose. They'd send up a cry to every omnic in a ten-mile radius. What was a peaceful day became a fucking bloody battle._ "

Three. One bobbed lazily in the air, its tiny white body and two fans making a comical buzzing sound. Another was floating closer to the ground, and a third was spread off to the left. Jesse didn't want to move or breathe or if he was entirely honest, exist. Existing at that moment seemed like too much of a risk.

"Darlin'," his voice was like sandpaper against a stone, gritty and low, "don't make a ---"

From the corner of his eyes, he saw the moment. A flash of gunmetal blue in the early morning.  _ Oh God, no. _ Hanzo sat regally, the scarf in his hair billowing behind him. There was the creak of the string, pulled tautly, the archer's narrow eyes focused on the middle of the three bots.

The scatter arrow snapped onto the ground, the metal fragments bursting into the air. The middlest bot was destroyed, and the one to the right that was buzzing to the ground exploded with a soft 'pop'. But the bot to the far left did not. It stuttered in the air, heavily damaged and sparking, before sinking to the ground. Jesse held his breath, ears straining against the silence for even the faintest hint of a fan.

Nothing.

Sinking forward onto the horse, Jesse let the breath out in a solid rush. "Jesus Christ, Hanzo. Y'coulda got us killed."

Scoffing, the archer brushed his cloth shoulder off, "Simple Geometry." Right, because Hanzo was perfect and without any flaws. Never missed a shot. If McCree's sarcasm got any stronger, he might eclipse into an ironic coma.

"Well if ya wouldn't mind being jus' a bit more hesitant to pull the trigger, than perhaps--”

It happened swiftly. The squeal wasn’t too loud, but enough that it caused both riders to jerk. Like a zombie rising from the grave, the little drone bobbed drunkenly. A red light was blinking on its front as the squeal continued. Was that the sound Gabi warned him of? Or was that just because the fan blades are bent? Hanzo was the first to react, his arrow cleaving the bot in half and nailing it to the ground. 

And then more silence.

“Perhaps it was not heard,” Hanzo whispered. Jesse wanted to be optimistic, but he was shaking too hard to speak in a voice that wasn't ten octaves too high and twenty times too loud. When a few more seconds passed, and he had a chance to suck in a few more lungfuls of air, he finally replied.

“Maybe.”

In the distance, off to the right facing the west, and in the deepest bluest part of the dawn, comes a loud, shrieking sound. It was unnerving. Like nails being dragged down a chalkboard while one chewed on tin foil unnerving. Every hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stood, bristled into action by the unknown.

Then, it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Until Hanzo and Jesse were sitting upon two nervous horses, surrounded by the world’s worst choral edition of ‘unnerving shriek from my nightmare’. Hanzo nocked another arrow, pulled taut once more, but without a target, there was no one to shoot. It was that image, of Hanzo searching wildly, that spurred Jesse into motion.

“Ride, Hanzo!” Without further warning, he kicked the horse into a gallop, launching down the road they had traveled. Hanzo did not need to be told twice. A glance over Jesse’s shoulder revealed Hanzo was right on Jesse’s tail.

Gabi had always told him stories about the ingenuity of the omnics. Built to solve all of mankind’s problems, they learned how to mimic human behavior. They boiled down solving problems and adaptation to a science so accurate and terrifying that there was still the phrase ‘he could out adapt an omnic’.

So really, all things considered, seeing five rail thin omnics riding galloping OR15s like horses should  _ not _ have been that surprising. Of course, there would be cowboy omnics. And of course, they would ride OR15s into the heat of battle like war steeds. Jesse briefly glanced over his shoulder before locking eyes back on Hanzo.

“Jesse!” It was as if his name could sum up all the existential dread that was making him just want to break apart at the seams. Instead of answering, Jessed twisted back around and leaned forward against the horse, heart beating as fast as the hooves that pounded against the dusty road.

“I know, darlin!” He croaked above the whipping wind, “We gotta get to cover.” They were far too deep in the scrubby desert, and while the shallow rolling hills would offer a modicum of cover, it would not be enough to stop the blitzing bullets of the omnics. Jesse's mind kicked into high gear, the grit of his teeth matching the grit of the gears grinding in his mind.

"I thought OR15s were slow!" Hanzo sounded breathless, shouting over the thunder of hooves and the squall of shrieks that were chasing them like a bad scent. "How are they keeping pace with us?"

"Modded bodies, I assume!" Clever fucking omnics. Adaptable and ingenious and deadly. Jesse tried to settle the screaming terror settling heavy in his gut, but no level of deep breathing was giving him the chance. What would Gabe do? Fight them? Looking over his shoulder almost made his heart stop. Almost. McCree was still breathing so the attempt on his life was completely unsuccessful, but the stomach dropping, panic-inducing, heart lurching sensation surely shaved a few years off.

Hanzo stood stock still, his horse turned in the middle of the road. "Hanzo!" Grabbing his reins, he reeled the horse around in time to watch a single arrow fly from storm bow.

" _ Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau _ !" Memories of the wild blue fire that had illuminated his partner's tattoo and eyes sprang to mind. Above the squealing of the omnic sentries. Above the pounding of hooves rattling his bones. Above the furious beating of his heart.

Roared dragons.

Blue fire exploded outwards and twisted, turning into the body of two large dragons. He'd seen it done before, on and off the battlefield, but each time left him breathless. Such ferocity and majesty, coupled with the light that the dragons shone, made his hindbrain scream to run. To flee.

But this time, he couldn't look away. Couldn't run. Hanzo's outline cut against the blue-white brilliance sucked away any other desire. Distantly, Jesse knew the omnics were dying, the piercing shriek of rent metal cutting in the air, the garbled cries of broken omnic voices punctuating it. Hanzo turned and caught Jesse's eyes. Behind him the dragons faded, leaving only smoking remains and their master, strong and proud and unflinching.

Jesse was no stranger to adrenaline-fueled lust, but the desire that slammed into him was something out of this world. It took every inch of mental strength, and the continued cries of the omnic sentries, to stave the urge. "Damn good shootin', partner."

Hanzo's little smirk did funny things to his pulse. "Damn good ridin', partner." Cheeky little shit, copying his accent. Jesse barked out a laugh and turned his horse around.

"We should get goin'." He waited until both horses came side by side, and then took off. They still needed to find shelter, but Hanzo's trick had given them enough time to possibly get to cover.

Jesse lead them along, slowing their horses from a gallop down to a trot. The morning had blossomed in all its glory, burning away the cool blue tones of dawn into the sharp yellows as the sun beat down on them. Years of living in the region told him it'd be a hot, miserable day. As much as returning to the Marston's meant a relatively safe haven and air-conditioned air, it also had the distinct chance of leading a roving omnic army to them. Nothing, not even the threat of first degree burns, could push Jesse to do something so reckless as that.

Seeing as the only defensible area with a bit of shade to rest in was going to be in the rockier, northern reaches, Jesse diverted their horses to that path. In silence, they rode, a calm that did nothing to settle his nerves. Hanzo must have felt the same, his voice breaking their bubble of silence.

"Is it possible that was all there was? That no more will follow?" Hanzo’s words slurred, tired and broken down.

Sighing softly, Jesse ran a hand through his hair. Exhaustion was becoming a familiar bedfellow. "It's not impossible, sure, but I'd be downright surprised." Omnics roamed in large packs, even the stragglers, and from how the army had been behaving? It sure didn't seem like this was just a small pack of them that had been awoken. They were looking at a full fleet and the knowledge that Hanzo was going to be caught in this nightmare spurred him to keep his eyes and mind sharp.

The canyon he saw from the distance loomed ahead. Tall, rustic red-brown rock with a winding path down the center. A natural one, made from water seeping into a crack and breaking the rock down over time. Centuries. He always felt better in places like this, where nature and man melded instead of fought. Being hugged on both sides by the steep rock walls felt good. Like a security blanket that wound around in slippery snake-like patterns, leading them deeper and deeper.

"It's beautiful. I wish we could have found this under better circumstances." There was a certain childlike awe in Hanzo’s voice. Jesse turned his head and watched ihs partner look around with big wide eyes and a pleasant smile.

"Yeah, perhaps the only good thing 'bout this place. Some of nature is downright heavenly."

The winding path led them out into an open quarry surrounded on all sides by the red rock. It was reminiscent of a bowl, the high dirt red walls keeping prying eyes out. A few tall standing rocks dotted the center, connecting the outer shell by rotting rope bridges. Some of them, though, looked relatively maintained. That gave Jesse a pause. Why would this place look... Maintained? Something tickled at the back of his mind, a nagging sensation like deja vu.

Familiar. It felt so familiar and while at first Jesse had sought out the tall walls for protection, the feeling of dread screamed this place was anything but protective.

"Was this a mining quarry?" Bless him, Hanzo's voice was a grounding force. Blinking, Jesse shrugged limply, his voice having scurried off somewhere mysterious and far away.

They pulled around a corner and found themselves at the back of the red rock bowl. There, tucked mostly into the ground was a yawning opening of a mine shaft. Modern vehicles, ATVs with gas and wheels, boxes upon boxes of what he could only guess were provisions. While there was no one visible, it was clearly a site in use.

"Guess you were right about the mine, Hanz. How'd ya guess?"

He looked at the archer and caught a stern look his eyes and shoulders tense. Jesse's body echoed his posture, drawing into alert. "McCree, look." He pointed to the far right. Following the finger lead him to look at another pile of boxes, this time, some of them were open.

AK47s and thick ammo boxes cluttered the lids and ground. Pulse grenades and rockets. Homing missiles and sticky mines. On the far wall, barely visible, faded by the forces that had made this place, was what looked to be a spray painted skull. A lock hung below it.

"Oh fuck," Jesse breathed, eyes growing wide. Memories slammed into him, days spent squirreling away guns and other important items in the mine shafts, long abandoned for cleaner fuel, but still welcoming to any who dared to enter them. "Deadlock. This is one of their holdouts."

"Yes, but no one is here and the weapons are very visible. Do not tell me they are so arrogant that they would simply leave their merchandise out in the open for anyone to take." Hanzo scoffed. Under normal circumstances, watching the Yakuza prince become disgusted by the ill runnings of another gang would be downright hilarious, but right now Hanzo had a very good point. Deadlock  _ wouldn't _ just leave their merchandise out in the open like that.

A trap? From them? It didn't seem their style if Jesse was frank. "We gotta get out of here. This just ain't right. Something is so wrong with this." His intuition was screaming to run, to flee from the wrongness before them.

Hanzo's horse cried in pain, the burst of sniper fire laying into its flank. The great beast, startled and in pain, with limited training, bucked Hanzo. His own startled by the sudden noise, shimmied below Jesse, trying to dislodge its own rider so it could run free. Jesse leaped from the saddle as the horse bolted, terrified, away from them and the noise. Cursing loudly, Jesse grabbed his hat and unholstered Peacekeeper. The familiar weight of the pistol was a grounding force.

Fear and death biting on his heels made the cowboy duck, running as fast as he could to the crates for cover. He dove behind one, doing a combat roll to get away from the hail of bullets. Where was Hanzo? After the shot and watching him fly off, Jesse had lost his partner. He looked around, and for the second time that morning, his heart made a damn valiant effort to simply stop working.

Lying on the ground near some of the metal crates was Hanzo, knocked unconscious with a gash on his forehead pouring out blood. Jesse had no clue where the sniper was, but if Hanzo was still breathing, that meant they weren't interested in killing the heir. Or maybe it was bait? And damn fine bait, because Jesse decided then and there that he'd rather have his brains blown out than leave Hanzo Shimada to the elements on a canyon floor.

He kept moving, using each box as cover and shoot here and there wildly in the direction the bullets were coming from. There were so many perches and deep shadows around that the sniper could be anywhere. Still, it seemed to work, much to his relief. Grabbing Hanzo, he pulled his partner behind a double stacked crate. Where he had lain, a shot embedded into the hard-packed earth, exploding dust around them in a fine mist. Jesse wheezed, coughing as he waved it away from them.

And then there was nothing. No more shots. No horses crying in pain or fear. No more anything. Just the sound of Jesse's ragged panting and the still noise of the desert. The music of a land bleached of most life but the hardiest of creatures and plants.

Of course, not all good things could last. A faint rumble began to rock the ground, the vibrations tingling against his ass and legs. And maybe it'd be funny, in another life or in another way, but now. Now it could mean only one thing.

They were dead. No horses and the omnics had caught up. How Jesse didn't know. Laughing weakly, he rested his head against the corrugated metal box and closed his eyes. "Guess this is the end."

Hanzo groaned from his lap, twitching. It dragged his eyes open, his mind working when everything cried to give in. That a life that had been a struggle from the start deserved an ending like this. That to continue living was just to invite more pain, more misery. That it was poetic - born during the omnic crisis' end to be killed by what could be the start of the second omnic crisis.

But that was just one life, and Jesse wasn't about to damn another just because he was a little 'tired' of living. "Darlin', peach, sugarplum, sweetheart - wish I could tell ya this would work, but I don't want my final words to be a lie. So lemme just say," he whispered to the unconscious archer, "ya got a damn fine ass and you owe me. Big. Time."

Easing Hanzo to the ground, Jesse took a breath and said a prayer.  _ Hey God, it's Jesse. The fuck up. Been a long time. Only pray during one of these situations. Last one was when the HQ blew up. Thanks for the help. Sorry, sarcasm is my coping method. _

_ Now I know this don't make sense, but the fella on the ground there deserves more than he got and I ain't about to snuff it. So please, just this once, do somethin' for me and make sure this works. _

Pain flared in his left eye, the world growing into shades of high red and orange. Jesse rose from behind the boxes, everything slow and deliberately moving around him. Like they were all fighting in molasses.

Crowded around the canyon was a mix of omnics - OR15s, Bastions, Destroyers, and more. From left to right, a small red skull appeared on them. Like a magician waving a magic wand, each was marked. Jesse could hear the blood in his ears, a rushing sound like sinking below into the ocean. Yeah, sort of like drowning. No air and the pressure of something uncontrollable overwhelming himself.

"Draw." His normal shouted phrase was a whisper, a caress of death as the gun in his hand went off - again and again and again. More than six times. More than twelve. More than twenty. Omnic cries, harsh and twisted, rent the air.

And then they were dead. A whole army, decimated by one man. The color of the world came back and he was punched full force with mind ending agony. Screaming, he clawed at his eye and dropped to his knees. Deadeye extracted a price each time, and this one was a doozy. It was like an ice pick was slamming into his brain over and over again. It burned down his spine, seizing his shoulders.

Too much. Too much. Jesse's mind faded, saving itself from the pain.

 

\---

 

Something wet was pressed upon his cheek. Groaning, Jesse pushed the muzzle away from him and squirmed, "C'mon now... C'mon I don't want that what... What're you-" A particularly sloppy lick jerked the cowboy awake with a yelp.

"The hell?" A horse stood beside him, having mouthed at him enough to get him up. Not just any horse - His horse. "Well. Looky there. Ya came back."

The other thing that came back was the pain, now just a screaming pressure behind his eyes and not the mind ending agony from earlier. That Jesse could handle.

A soft groan from his right pulled his attention. Hanzo laid prone on the ground, panting weakly, his face flushed a brilliant scarlet. "Oh fuck, Hanzo. Shit, baby I'm sorry I didn't mean t'forget you."

They had to get out of here. Even if Deadlock wasn't there at the moment, that did not mean they would not be there at some point. They needed shelter and another horse. They needed a solution to the problems before them, but that was the task for a man not worn and exhausted. Jesse pushed himself to stand, his joints popping in a percussive chorus that ended in his pained whimper. "Growin' old is the pits."

First thing was to get their other supplies from the fallen horse. It hurt to see the poor beast laid out on the ground, blood dried already. A faint smell was already rising from the body, spurred by the baking sun overhead. God, they'd lost literal hours after Jesse had passed out. The saddle bags were removed and slung over Jesse's shoulders. Normally, they'd be the end of it. Dead was dead. Blackwatch training loved to rear its ugly head and demand old routines be performed. There was no time in sentimentality when danger lurked around every corner.

Instead of leaving, Jesse bent at the waist and closed the horse's eyes. Straightening himself out, the cowboy removed his hat and pressed it to the front of his chest. "Sorry your life was ended this way. You were a good horse." Donning the hat again, he turned on heel and walked back to Hanzo and his horse.

He slung the second set of saddlebags onto the horse. Poor Hanzo. He wished he could be more gentle, but the only solution to a knocked out, the febrile archer was to sling the man over his shoulder fireman carry style. Jesse had a hell of a time getting on the horse, but once on they were off.

Their camp was tucked right off a rocky dirt trail, near enough to the sea that the push and pull of the waves slapping endlessly on the cliff side was like a metronome for every ache and pain that pulsed. Jesse swallowed, wishing for nothing more than peace and quiet and a nice warm bed. Instead, they had to hide here.

Removing his serape, he laid it out onto the ground that was flat and free of rocks. Hanzo was still half delirious on the horse, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. It made his chest squeeze, in shame and in sympathy. Gingerly, he took the delirious man in his arms and carried him to the blanket. Jesse held him like he was worth the world and more. As if the hardened warrior would snap simply with a little manhandling. If he pressed a kiss to the archer’s forehead when he laid him down like a babe being set into a crib, no one was the wiser. Jesse certainly was not going to tell.

With some ingenuity, he managed to lash together some sticks and with two of their spare blankets, created a sun shelter. Hanzo, through the whole ordeal, did not move. Other than the weak rise and fall of his chest and the gentle jerk and twitch, the archer remained asleep. 

“Hanz, ya gotta wake up. I…” Whatever words wanted to come out died on his tongue. Fear kept them at bay, tucked safely away from the light of day. Though, Jesse was a man of action and not words. With a tender hand, he stroked Hanzo’s face, “I’ll be back, darlin’.”

It hurt to move. Hell it hurt to breathe. But Jesse did it, as he always had. When the pain got bad, he just kept moving until his body made him stop. Right now, it wasn’t at that point. He could keep going. He could make sure Hanzo was okay, because frankly, that was of the utmost importance.

Unpacking the horse’s saddlebags made her happy and allowed the tired beast to roam freely. Jesse watched as she began to graze, chewing on the low lying brush and grass. The horse’s scream still echoed in his ears, made worse by knowing that the poor creature had dislodged Hanzo and now… Now.

Now Hanzo is injured and has a fever. If Jesse was a smarter man he might have known if the fever was caused by the injury or visa versa. Instead, he could only guess that they were related. Or perhaps it was heat exhaustion. How long had they laid out under the hard sun, baking in that redrock bowl? Long enough that even Jesse felt like jerky. Poor Hanzo must have felt burnt to a crisp.

Both saddlebags were placed under the makeshift shelter, the freedom from the weight making his sore muscles sing in joy. Kneeling down, Jesse started to look through their contents, carefully undoing each zipper or buckle to reveal the contents. Jess pulled out the first-aid kit, as well as one of their sterile water bottles.

Jesse's mouth set into a hard line, his eyes losing the lost, hazy look that had plagued him from the moment they fled the mineshaft canyon. With deft hands, he opened the first aid and pulled out the small bottle of hand sanitizer. "Damn do I hate this shit," he muttered as he lathered the foamy white substance onto each palm before rigorously scrubbing his rough hands, "Burns like hell." After a few moments, the foam was blended into his skin, leaving Jesse with clean hands.

He began to work then in earnest, taking out gauze and wetting it with the sterile water. The worst damage on the archer was his right side. Old tacky blood covered Hanzo's face, spilling down to his neck. A few gashes here and there were the culprits, none of them deep enough to warrant stitches. Thank God. That was a task that the cowboy wasn't prepared to handle. Not right now, at the very least.

It wasn't the first time patching up Hanzo. No, the man was a sniper, but he could be reckless. Fearless, Hanzo called it. Throwing himself into battles, regardless of the predicted outcome. A man of action, of quick decisions and swift punishments. Jesse chuckled to himself as he cleaned Hanzo's face. If the gentle, steady wipes to rid him of old blood became a little less professional and a little more affectionate, no one could say.

"Remember the first time I had t'patch you up in the field?." Jesse couldn't hold his tongue still, the tension and worry inside of him needed a positive outlet. An outlet that didn't involve smoking another cigarillo or shouting at the sky like a deranged lunatic. So he would talk to his partner.. His smooth drawl matched the beat of the waves, filling the tiny space of their shelter. "Lijiang Tower. We got split from the group in that damn garden area. Too many places to be. You got ripped into by a Talon member’s claws. Fuckin' claws, who fights with those?"

Each cut got a dollop of nanite mixed antibacterial gel, which McCree carefully smoothed into the crags. It was overkill, honestly. The bandage would spread it out just fine. "Had t'give you stitches. You were so angry. Said I stitched like a blind man with his hands tied behind his back." Laughing softly, Jesse put the thickly padded bandages on Hanzo's wounds. Seeing him lying there, flushed with a fever, studded with the padded white bandages, it all came to him then. Hanzo was seriously wounded and Jesse was... Jesse. 

A man with more blood on his hands than was justified. A man who was not a healer, nor a doctor. A man who could hardly keep himself together, now with the fragile life of a dear friend entrusted to him by circumstances. Fate was a cruel asshole sometimes.

"Didn't get sick often during Blackwatch days. They fed me better." Jesse took off his Stetson and set it to the side. Another strip of sterile cloth was wetted lightly, until just damp, and then placed upon Hanzo's forehead.  He did the same with a third, but this was used to wet Hanzo’s lips and mouth. It wouldn’t do to get dehydrated now. "But the few times I did, Ana was always there giving me tea and lots of goodies. Reyes would make me hot salsa and fresh chips. Said it'd make me feel better. Wish I had peppers now."

Picking his hat back up, Jesse began to fan Hanzo with it. While the water wasn't cold, the air would help to cool it off. At least, that was the plan. Seawater was cold, but that meant finding a place to get to the splashing waves. Also meant leaving Hanzo alone, and that was a very bad idea.

"You helped me in Ilios. Kept me up then, when I cut that nasty gash in my leg. Sacrificed that pretty ribbon of yours." It had to be thrown away, a fact he still mourned. It might have just been some silk ribbon, but it was Hanzo's. It was the thought of it, though. Shimada, who at that point didn't have much in his bunk or in his life, sacrificing something personal for him. "You told me it was no big deal."

"Because it was not." Jesse jerked his eyes back to Hanzo. The man was smiling at him, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. If it weren't for the thick feverish blush that was permeating his face, Jesse could have imagined this was how the archer woke up most mornings - soft and sweet and pliable.

"Hey darlin'." Was it okay for him to be awake? Well if he had a concussion then it probably for the best that he remain awake. "How you feelin'?"

"Like a horse kicked me off into a --" Hanzo's words cut off by a wracking fit of coughs, his body doubling over. Jesse scrambled for the water, pressing the bottle to the archer's lips as his other hand supported him. Each gulp of water was messy, trickles of it escaping from the corners of Hanzo's mouth to wet his beard and neck. Pulling back, the archer panted and laid back down with Jesse's help. Watching his chest heave made Jesse's heart leap into his throat. "Thank you."

Grunting in acknowledgment, Jesse busied himself with rewetting the cloth and placing it once more. "You have such warm and gentle hands."

Jesse's motions stuttered to a halt, his jaw hanging agape. "Uh... I'm sorry sugar, but what?"

"Your hands they are... nice. Like all of you." Hanzo sighed in a way Jesse had never heard before. It twisted something in the cowboy that wound around his stomach in tight knots. "I enjoy them the most, but... Your eyes are also lovely. So expressive. Like honey."

Delirious. Hanzo was delirious. "Well thanks. Uh, we should get you some pills." Rummaging back into the first aid brought up the items in question - a sealed packet of aspirin. Jesse slipped an arm around Hanzo's shoulders, hauling him up into a reclined position while the archer tore open the packet and swallowed them without water. "All right, let's hope this help cuts your fever."

Hanzo's response was a soft hum as he leaned into gunslinger, face buried in his chest. His voice rumbled against Jesse's chest, fluttering his heart as much as his words did. "I feel safe with you, Jesse. You're like a bear. Mm, yes. Hairy and the honey eyes."

Oh boy. Jesse turned ten shades of red as he carefully lowered the archer back down, "A bear, huh? Aintcha afraid I'm gonna eat ya?"

"Oh," Hanzo purred, his smile turning lascivious, a look so dirty it damn near made Jesse want to take a bath, "I would like that  _ very _ much, Mister McCree."

"Ooookay. Yep. Delirious for sure. Just close your eyes, sweetie pie. Fever'll break here in a bit." Super serious assassin, death brings redemption, Hanzo Shimada pouted at him. Full on, lower lip jutting out and brow furrowed pout.

"You do not believe me, McCree?"

Sighing out a complicated mix of anxiety, happiness, and irritation, the cowboy scratched at his beard before responding, "Dearest, if you feel this way when the fever breaks, I'll believe every damn word ya say. All of 'em. Right now? You're hurt and sick and I'm -- talking to a man who is asleep."

Christ, Hanzo was going to be the death of him. He watched the archer's peaceful breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. With his hands now unoccupied with worrying over the other man, Jesse returned to fanning and his thoughts.


	8. Thieves' Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: gambling, racism, homophobia  
> a/n: the formatting for this chapter is very messed up. I'm not sure why. Sorry!

Hanzo had wanted to experience another sunrise in the desert, but not under these circumstances. He came to consciousness slowly, a little bit  at a time, like sand trickling in an hourglass. First was the ever present sensation of cold. Cold and hot and warm and cold. It ran waves around every limb like a whirlpool of sensation. Then, the stiffness - Oh the stiffness in his muscles, in his back, in his joints. Hanzo ached fiercely like he had been thrown into a blender and poured out into a spitting hot frying pan. After that, came memories. Running from cowboy omnics riding OR15s. The standoff in the odd quarry… Jesse? Where was he?

Forcing his eyes open was surprisingly easier than he had anticipated, given the current state of his body. Hanzo slowly turned his head. A faint sense of vertigo twisted his stomach, but it could be ignored. 

He was certainly not in a house and not in a town and definitely not in the quarry. The faint splashing of the sea was the cause of the salty tinge in the air, as well as the lulling sound of crashing waves. The flora was different too - more low brush and small cactus than the tall, iconic ones or large bushes around the ranch and armadillo. So this area was new. 

“Darlin?” Jesse’s voice was tinged with worry, but Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to speak. The cowboy stood haloed in the glory of the sunrise over the ocean - the deep dusky pinks pulled out the color of his skin, punctuated the dark freckles that dusted his broken nose. The sharper reds hung around his shoulders, like the serape that laid under Hanzo. And the smudgy orange that the pink and red faded into - it felt as if the daring amber of McCree’s eyes had bled into the sky itself. It softened every hard line and rough patch on the cowboy, like the world was covered in a gauze filter. Hanzo could see the adorable crows feet at the corner of his eyes, and the wispy silver hairs that threaded into his shaggy brown locks. He knew then, that even if he lived to be 100 years old, he’d never see a sunrise as beautiful as this one - the one that painted Jesse McCree across the sky.

“Hanzo, please. Say somethin’.” Right. Blinking, Hanzo came back to reality with a tired smile and a nod.

“I am fine, Jesse. I promise, I simply was… Enjoying the sunrise behind you.” McCree looked skeptical, for good reason, but turned halfway around to watch. 

Grunting, the gunslinger stood and stretched, a series of pops coming from his back, “I can see why. Pretty nice, ain’t it.”

“Oh,” Hanzo breathed, “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Quirking a brow, Jesse glanced back one last time, “Really? I seen a lot better.”

Chuckling to himself, Hanzo combed his hair back with his fingers. They needed to get moving, and as much as he wanted to continue their miscommunication, the longer they lingered here the higher the chances became of being found by the Deadlocks. Or Omnics. Or Talon. Or maybe nuclear coyotes. At this point, Hanzo was not interested in tempting fate.

Jesse filled him in on what had happened to their other horse. Hanzo felt pity for the creature, knowing that it had done nothing but serve them and in doing that fell. Losing half of their belongings payed off in packing time. They took only moments to pack the remaining saddle bags.  
"Should I remove my prosthetics?" Hanzo ran a hand along the flank of their horse. She glanced over at him, tail swishing idly as she chewed a mouthful of brush.   
"Can't afford that, if I'm honest. We get caught with those off and we're in deep shit." McCree was correct. But the poor horse, having to carry two grown men and their belongings... "She'll be just fine Hanz. Horses are built to carry large weights and make long distance travels. we ain't going far either."  
"Where are we going then?" McCree mounted the horse first, and Hanzo was struck with just how right it seemed. the cowboy sitting proud and straight on the saddle, his serape falling around his shoulders. The reverie was broken when a smile was shot his way, leaving Hanzo flushed from more than the rising heat. Given a hand, Hanzo climbed on the horse and sat snug behind Jesse. With arms looped around McCree's center, he was balanced and capable of riding.  
"Not sure, but we're near the water. Somethin' should be close, I reckon." Something. Hanzo had been a wanderer for long enough to know that what the other was saying was true - water lead to settlements.  
Now the sound of crashing waves was joined by the rhythmic thump of hooves hitting packed dirt; a vibrating sound that hummed in Hanzo's bones. In silence they rode, bodies swaying to the beat of earth and horse and sea. In the lull, Hanzo rested his head between Jesse's shoulder blades. Cigarillo and horse musk clogged the woolen serape. It soothed him.  
Not all moments of an adventure were eventful, and Hanzo knew the lulls were to be savored. Safety in the face of danger was a commodity few ever could afford. The body of the man he leaned against, the weapon in his holster, the weapon on hanzo’s back, and their combined years of fighting and running and gunning - it transformed pensive quiet into blankets of security. Hanzo could rest, collect himself for what could come.  
At least, in a rare turn of fate, it was not something he had to face alone.  
The sun had grew hot and heavy, an oppressive force that baked the ground and air. But what was worse was the humidity. It clung to Hanzo like a sticky hug, invading his lungs and pushing every square inch of his body.  
Humidity was their first clue that the surroundings were changing. The next was the dirt - the hard packed earth lost some of its reddish hue and became a loamy, dark brown or a slippery terracota like clay.  
Next was scent - leaves and other fauna that weren't just growing now, that was a big change too, but rotting. Decomposing in a mix of hot wet air and loamy ground. Pockets of foliage that were growing into mulch and it smelled. Not horrific, but not great. 

"Reminds me of the forest in fall time,” Jesse murmured. “All those leaves collectin' together."  
"Indeed." Hanzo chuckled softly, "Sakura flowers fall quickly after they blossom, and then they collect and decompose, returning to the earth for nutrients to fuel the next year. A never-ending pattern of life and death."  
"Poetic," McCree mused. He glanced at Hanzo over his shoulder. All Hanzo could see was a corner of an amber eye and part of a smile, scarred lips pulled wide. "Suits you, writin' poetry. You got that sorta broodin' author attitude."  
Snorting, Hanzo shook his head and fell silent once more.  
Trees, low and small, big and tall, filled the roadsides. They nestled into the dirt and, what Hanzo realized with a start, was marsh. He didn't believe they had traveled that far, but coming back to reality, the sun had dramatically shifted, hanging just above the horizon. Dusk was settling in around them, coolin' the humid air drastically. "Finally."  
"Mmm, nice ain't it? Felt like I was gettin' boiled there for a little." Chuckling, Jesse shifted in the saddle. The road was evening out, the path used more frequently. "Well, good news is I know where we're at."  
"And the bad news?" Hanzo asked, voice dripping with trepidation.  
Jesse's shoulders sagged, "Thieves Landing. Not a terrible place, but well with a name like that... I'm sure you can figure it out, darlin'."  
Yes, a name like that left little to the imagination. They rounded a final corner, and standing upon two tall wooden posts was a sign. The letters were bronzed and rusting on the sides, but proudly declared the area as 'THIEVES LANDING'.  
As dangerous as the name made it out to be, Hanzo could not help but marvel at the beauty of the town. It was situated on the swamp itself, everything risen from the fetid waters by wooden bridges and handrails. Some larger buildings were on islands, such as the main three story establishment.  
After the earthy silence that had swaddled them all afternoon, the shift to lively carousing, yelling, and music was a shock to the system. Hanzo wrinkled his nose in distaste, "Must we stop here?"  
"I'm afraid our horse needs rest, Hanzo. We need to." Right. Hanzo rubbed at the horse's flank, admonishing himself silently for forgetting their companion, their stalwart helper in the face of this disaster.  
Jesse lead them to a relatively calm area - mostly it was filled with shanty looking homes, made of corrugated metal and wood slapped together and leaning like a modern art piece. All odd angles and jumbled material. No one was about, and the narrow walkway gave them an advantage in a fight. Hanzo dismounted after Jesse. At first his thighs quaked, the sudden addition of weight after spending most of the afternoon on a horse was a hard, hard shift.  
Silently they looked through what they had left. Besides some clothing and ammunition, much of their provisions and camping gear was gone. Left behind in the quarry. Something else was missing too. Something of far greater importance.  
"Do you have our money pouch?" Hanzo asked, shoulders tight and fists balled into the leather of the saddle bag. Jesse was frantically digging through clothes, his hands diving into pockets of folded pants and hakama.  
But his motions slowed. Slowed until they stopped and the cowboy stared. Hanzo squeezed the leather saddlebag, feeling the creak of it in his fingers, letting it ground him.   
"No. I don't. It... Must be with the other horse." The one in the quarry. Hanzo closed his eyes, likely realizing what McCree had too.   
There was no way to back there.  
"How much do we have, then?" A few more minutes of shuffling lead them to a new, painful discovery. Hanzo had no coins, but McCree had a few.

"Forty. We've got forty gold, Hanzo." A pittance compared to what they had earned for the bounty. Hanzo sighed, wishing the credits worked here. Then again, if they worked then this wouldn't be as dire a situation - other tech would work too.

"We need a room to stay at the very least. Board can’t be that expensive," Hanzo mused aloud. They had passed the large central building earlier, but Hanzo had not caught the name.

McCree sighed and pulled off his hat. "Best chance we got, I suppose. Maybe we can find work here tomorrow, or we'll go huntin' and sell what we get." Meat would be a commodity they would want to have on hand and the skins were useful, even when tech was working. 

Befor leaving, Hanzo changed into one of Jesse’s flannels. The soft material of the shirt rubbed against his skin. He simply couldn’t walk in there wearing his usual outfit - it would attract too much attention. They needed money and a place to stay, not a gawking crowd.

Once changed, they led their horse from the back alley and over the wooden bridges back to the lively center building.

Lights blazed inside of the building, the flicker of fire and oil lamps a stunning difference from the usual fluorescent paleness that covered the world. And the sound - Hanzo could not get over the sheer volume the customers were pumping out with their cheering and carousing. Jesse wrapped the reins around one of the hitching posts and grabbed their saddlebags, flopping it upon his shoulder with a grunt. "Listen, dunno if you've ever uh... been around an establishment like this 'fore, Hanzo."

"I would be surprised if I have not." He arched a brow, and wrapped his arms across his chest, "What is it?"

"They probably got workin' girls here. Some of 'em are gonna hit on you. Just t'prepare you for that is all." Ah... Not that the idea was abhorrent, the clan had dealt with their own side of prostitution, but he had never found it so out in the open. This was truly an odd world they had stepped into.

If the noise outside had been strong, inside was like walking into a wall. Music and singing laced with the yells and shouts of the drunken and punctuated all with laughter. To their far left three large tables were currently playing cards, shining gold pieces gleaming, taunting them both with their easy access. But neither man would attempt something so amoral. They would make do. To their left was a bar, chairs and tables filled with men and women alike. Most drinking, some eating sloppy fair that Hanzo could not name. It smelled horrific - grease and vomit and acrid beer. Hanzo sneered and turned his attention dead ahead, where his partner was ambling towards a long wooden counter. An older woman with modestly graying hair was leaning against it, reading something of more interest. Hanzo followed suit, ignoring the looks being shot his way.

"Howdy." Jesse greeted, leaning on the bar with an elbow. The woman stopped reading and glanced up at him with utter disinterest. It did little to deter Jesse, who continued, "Lookin' to rent a room for the night. Ya got any open?"

"Both of you?" She asked, though her eyes remained planted on Hanzo. Something about the appraising, unemotional stare left him feeling like a hunk of meat. Hanzo drew back his shoulders and stared back, filling his stomach with icy anger to not let a single other emotion show. It only had the effect of making her look back at Jesse.

"Yep. Both of us."

"That'll be 100 gold for the night." They froze, struck by the number.

"Now hold on just a damn minute," McCree shook his head, "that can't be right. That's astronomical."

"This ain't a hotel mister, it's a brothel. If you're takin' a room for the whole night, it'll cost ya. besides... I'll have to clean it afterward." She glanced at Hanzo once more, a leer in her eyes. He shuddered and bit his tongue.

"C'mon now. We don't got the coin for that, Miss. I'm trying not to be pushy, but we need a room."

"And I told you the price. Ain't my fault you two are broke." She shrugged and looked back at her book, leaving the two men high and dry. Sighing through his nose, Hanzo grabbed onto Jesse's forearm and tugged him back.

"Come with me." It took a few more tugs before the cowboy stopped trying to stare down the woman who was clearly no longer paying them any attention. The pair stepped back and approached the bar area, taking a seat at an empty table. Hanzo made the mistake of pressing his hand to the table top. Sticky grit ground into his palm. A shudder of revulsion wracked Hanzo as he pulled his hand back. "Do they not clean?"

"Probably enough to not make 'em sick." For the first time since they stopped riding, Hanzo looked at Jesse. Really looked. Heavy bags hung below his amber eyes, his hair a mess of tangled brown locks. Dirt stuck to his cheeks like cheap foundation. Hanzo could only guess what he looked like - bruised and exhausted and covered in dirt. He had no right to turn his nose up at any of the people here, nor how they had kept the place clean or their approximation of clean.

But what bothered him the most was the staring - many of the patrons were glancing at Hanzo, some openly gawking at him or whispering to one another. He had never felt so exposed and flayed open as he did in this moment. Like a thousand fingers were finding every inch of his skin and tearing him slowly down.

No, right now he needed to focus on getting them a room. Taking a breath, he looked back at Jesse. They were short sixty gold, which was no small sum in this place. Hanzo tapped his knuckles on the table and thought. His eyes slipped closed. Noises filtered in - laughter and teasing, the sound of people flirting back and forth. The shout of cards snapping on tables, the triumphant whoops and begrudging moans of winning and losing. Coins sliding across the table.

"Do you trust me?" Hanzo asked suddenly, his eyes still closed. When he opened them, Jesse was staring at him with knitted brows and concern in his eyes.

"Well I mean... Been my friend for some time now Hanzo and you're my fiancé" The little teasing smile Jesse shot him was returned with one of his own. "So yeah, reckon I do trust ya."

"I believe I can win us the rest of the money we need at a few hands of poker." Unlike other gambling games, poker was a game of skill and deceit. It was a favored gambling game in the clan, one that was treasured as a good measure of skill and luck. 

McCree scratched at his beard and looked away."Hanz, I'm sure you can, but we don't got a lotta room to play with." Hanzo took one more look at the room to confirm that the novelty of his appearance had not worn off. As annoying as it was, it was a tool. Something they could use.

Scooting his chair closer, he leaned into McCree and whispered in his ear, "McCree, they have been staring at me the moment we walked through the door. We can use this to our advantage."

This close, he could smell the rich tobacco and tang of sweat that hung off the cowboy. McCree murmured, his voice like honey, thick and sweet, to Hanzo's ears, "You act like y'don't know how to play, hang off of me." This was why they made good partners. Hanzo grinned broadly, eyes twinkling with joy. Jesse got it in one. "And we can win some easy coin by makin' ‘em think you're a sucker and I'm a lovestruck fool."

Sitting back, Hanzo took a breath and let the persona slide over him. Innocent, sweet and a little bit confused by everything around him. From how he had acted upon entering the establishment, it wasn't that surprising. "So you wish to play that poker game?" Hanzo asked playfully. Jesse blinked once, eyes wide as he glanced at Hanzo.

"Uhm..." Clearing his throat, the cowboy nodded and shot him a cocky grin causing the worry in Hanzo released. Yes, they made terrific partners, "Sure do, sweetie. Let's get over there and have some fun."

They stood from the table, Hanzo's mind already casing the poker tables from across the room. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft sound to his right. McCree was holding out his hand. "Shall we, sweetpea?" Heat colored Hanzo's cheeks at the endearment, but he took the hand without any hesitation. Practice, it seemed, was paying off. With their fingers laced together, he allowed McCree to guide him across the floor. Hanzo leaned into him, acting not unlike the working ladies who were hanging off their prospective marks.

The first table to have two open seats was surrounded by four men wearing variations of what Jesse did on missions. Vests and shirts, rough jeans and chaps, boots and some with hats and some without. Their faces were lined with dirt, wrinkled and unfriendly. Most eyes landed on Hanzo, their gazes raking him from top to bottom. Swallowing, he kept back most of his repulsion, instead focusing on where his hand was linked with McCree's.

Jesse pulled a chair out and instead of sitting, motioned for Hanzo first. Something fluttered in Hanzo's gut, a low and heavy heat that confused him. He took the seat and allowed himself to be pushed in. A moment later and Jesse was sitting beside him, their chairs close enough for their thighs to touch.

"Howdy. What's the buy in?" Jesse lifted his hat in greeting. Until that moment, the group has been silent, watching them closely without an offered word.

"Ten a piece," the dealer said, shuffling wedges of the deck to mix the cards together. Hanzo watched each one, noticing some of the cards had wear and tear. A stark difference from the crisp, used once decks at casinos and the clans back rooms. It meant counting cards and knowing who had what could be easier. He tucked the knowledge away for later.

Jesse pushed their four gold pieces out and received four white chips in return. Two of which he handed to Hanzo. Holding the chips, Hanzo felt the first pangs of trepidation. He was good at poker, and Jesse was likely too, but even knowing how to read a table could lead them flat out broke if they messed up.

"Darlin'?" Hanzo looked up at Jesse, who was giving him the warmest smile. A hand was settled on his thigh, and the warmth radiating from it into his skin was like the sun itself touching him, caressing his skin. Swallowing thickly, Hanzo gave his best smile. "Are you goin' to bet?"

"Oh, yes. Please." He pushed in one of the white chips, seeing that the others in the table had done so. Jesse chuckled softly and gave Hanzo's thigh a squeeze.

"Sweetpea, you should look at your cards first. Those two, right there." Jesse tapped the two face up cards in front of him. "Like this." McCree covered his cards with one hand and folded them up just enough to see the numbers.

"Ah, I see." There was a good-natured chuckle from the table. Good. If they thought him a fool then the chance this worked out increased tenfold. Peeking at the cards, Hanzo noted a six of hearts and a seven of clubs. Not a terrific hand. As a matter of fact, he would have rather folded than continue forward.

The dealer laid out the next three cards, an eight of hearts, nine of clubs, and a 2 of diamonds. The odds of getting a straight shot up dramatically and Hanzo felt the urge to fold into a cool demeanor. Years of training warred with the need to be expressive. Hanzo tilted his head and hummed at the new choices, his teeth coming out to worry his lower lip.

"I know this is your first time playin', so you might not know whatcha got. Ain't no reason to be worried, sweetpea." McCree's warm drawl pulled Hanzo's attention from the cards. A faint smile tugged on the edges of his lips as he nodded in response. Then a hand rested on his back, straight in the center. Warmth radiated from it, and Hanzo was unable to hold back the shudder that rolled over him. Such a simple touch, and yet it felt like electricity had been loosed through him. A combination of being in public, he reasoned. "You okay, darlin'?"

Real worry was strung in those words. Hanzo swallowed around a lump in his throat and nodded, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The table was watching him like a hawk, most of them either expressionless or gazing longingly. Again. "I am fine, dearest." It felt weird, wrong, to let those words fall from his lips. McCree's smile, as brilliant as the sun, burned him. Hanzo ducked his head and fought the urge to stand and walk away from the table, from the situation. It was becoming rather difficult, but the persona they had chosen for one another was set in stone. They could not go back. "I don't want to lose our money, that is all."

"Aw, sugarplum. Don't worry 'bout that at all. I'm a great cards player." He winked -- fucking winked -- at Hanzo. He was going to combust. He'd die, not from omnics or fever, but from being flirted with in public by someone who was his dearest friend.

"Of course you are. A great gambler and a better fiancé." Hanzo laid it on thick, his hand resting on Jesse's forearm. With a subtle squeeze given, the cowboy was now flushed. Good.

"Lovebirds, if you're done, it's time to bet." The dealer was definitely not pleased with their antics, and Hanzo felt properly admonished for being so single minded. Unfortunately, the others had bet, which left Hanzo with the choice to toss in his final coin or fold.

He worried his lower lip and glanced to Jesse, who was still smiling at him fondly. Hanzo wondered briefly what he could be thinking about, because surely it was not about him. Shaking his head, he pushed the coin in, "Here, that is my last one, though. What happens then?"

"Ah, that's called goin' all-in, sugar. Unfortunately, I'm foldin'." Jesse tossed his cards towards the dealer and leaned back in his chair. His thumb stroked along Hanzo's back, leaving lines of fire and electricity that made him tingle. If only, if only, this could be  _ real. _ But it wasn't, and wishing for what could never be was a good way to make oneself sick with agony. He pushed the thoughts away and instead focused on enjoying the moment. There was nothing wrong with a little indulgence when it was harmless and enjoyable.

He giggled, "All in, then." Such a laugh would have raised the dead years ago, but it fit with the flirty, innocent persona he was using. McCree's chuckle beside him felt good, like warm water on tense muscles good.

The others checked and the next card landed, but once more Hanzo was focused on the hand against his back, of the way it was stroking him and feeling the hard muscles. Years of training built into a body that had been abused and used for all sorts of schemes and battles, now tenderly touched by firm, probing fingers. It was wonderful. The betting continued unbeknownst to him, the river dropping.

"Hanzo?  _ Cariño _ ?" Blinking from his reverie, he glanced at Jesse. Once more the table's eyes were upon him, but he could ignore them. For the moment, it was the warm amber of Jesse's gaze and the way his smile made Hanzo feel like he was going to melt into a puddle. Only those two things in the world mattered, "Time t'reveal your hand, darlin'."

"Ah, yes." Hanzo flipped his cards and for the first time looked at what was on the table. Besides the first three, the fourth community card had been a 3 of clubs. That left the river, which came out to be a ten of hearts.

"Oh... I have a run? Is that a thing?"

"Yep, called a straight. Congrats, sugar." The money was pushed their way and internally Hanzo gave a sigh of relief. The pot wasn't huge, but it increased their earnings up to eighty gold.

The next few hands came and went, a blur of bets and folding and checking and raising. Rivers passed by, and community pots filled. But what kept Hanzo's attention was McCree and his casual touches. The way his hands lingered on Hanzo in some way or form - on his back, or on his leg, or his arm. The way they could look at one another and laugh, or give little jabs or barbs. The effortless flirting left his soul aflutter, his smile more genuine than it had been in years.

Hanzo laid his trap carefully. He was overly happy when getting something good, or overly distraught when getting something bad. McCree 'coached' him on how to look and act, reminding him that there was such a thing as a 'poker face'. It was endearing to ignore it and keep showing every emotion, though more subtly. He needed to at least pretend to follow the directions.

But the table was warming up. They fell into line with his laughs and teased him when he got something good. Losses mixed with wins, with the persona becoming firmer in place. The trap set perfectly and prepared, now, to spring.

Hanzo leaned heavily into Jesse's arm, ignoring the way his dragons stirred below his skin at the casual contact, and the way it seemed to make the gunslinger melt. It was all part of an act. An act they both slipped into without a single word. Doting fiancés, trapped together and so effortlessly fond of one another, with how their fingers tangled or their smiles caught one another's eye.

The rounds kept coming, with the same pattern. Hanzo became more and more adept and reading the men they were playing. The fellow without the hat and yellowed teeth twitched his fingers when lying. The man to Hanzo's right tried his best to imitate stone when bluffing, but his nose twitched ever so slightly every time he lied. Then there was their dealer, who was not so subtly shooting Hanzo a look that was either lurid or hateful. Neither of which the archer cared for, but it mattered not.  
"Sweetpea? It's your turn again." Jesse's hot breath in his ear sent goosebumps rushing across his skin, a little shiver rolling up Hanzo's spine. From where McCree's arm was held around his, he felt the muscles bunch slightly.

Humming, Hanzo peeked at the cards. A pair of queens. "Oh!" A delighted grin spread across Hanzo's face, but he quickly tamped it down with a quick clearing of his throat, "I will raise."

"Wonder why ya did that?" the man who was going bald asked, amusement laced in his voice. The table crowed with laughter and Hanzo had the grace to blush and laugh along with them. Three of the men folded, leaving just Jesse and one other the man. The bets were called and the river came next. Hanzo paid attention just enough to see that one of the cards with a folded ear was a Queen of Diamonds. The other two was a jack of clubs and a three or hearts. Betting came and went, the players checking as the next card was revealed: a 3 of spades.

The most difficult part of this ruse was remaining excited and letting his hand be known, even in subtle ways. Ways that Hanzo had learned, years and years ago, to snuff out. How to control yourself was a necessity in the clan. So showing everything he was feeling, the little excitement at knowing he had a very good hand that would be ridiculously hard to beat, was tough. But he did it, let his smile rise and color his eyes before he bit his lip.

Betting rolled through, more checks, and finally the last card, the river. An Ace of clubs. Nothing special or spectacular. The reveal indeed showed Hanzo as the winner. Suddenly their pool of money had gone from forty to seventy in two hands.

The dealer shuffled, his eyes heavy on Hanzo. They peeled at his resolve, weakening his desire to stand tall and remain calm in the face of it all. It was easy when he could lean into Jesse and rub his arm, offering him sweet nothings and little teases. "Do you think I'm getting better at this game? I'm not so sure." Jesse's huffed chuckle left warmth curling in Hanzo's stomach.

"You are certainly getting lucky, but you gotta get a better poker face, sugar. You're lettin' us all know how you're doin'." The shuffling of the decks became slower and slower, the cards snapping with almost purposeful loudness. He stopped doting on Jesse and turned to the dealer.

"You're cheating." The accusation was said between a sneer and crooked teeth. A hush fell over their table, and the sound of the other tables flooded in. No one seemingly paid mind to the severity of the statement, other than those sitting around Hanzo and McCree.

How to respond to this was the problem. In a normal situation Hanzo would have brushed it off or demanded that the man show proof. Perhaps, if the situation called for it, demand a fight for honor. It was incredibly insulting for someone to insinuate you were cheating.

Jesse apparently agreed, the cowboy halfway up from his seat, "Now hold on just a goddamn minute! Y'can't go throwin' aroun' words like that without consequence." As much as it rubbed Hanzo wrong to not defend himself, he bit his tongue and remained wide eyed and quiet.

"You two've been hangin' off one another this whole game. Whisperin' back and forth. How's that not cheatin'?" Ah, now that made sense.

Hanzo shook his head and held up a hand to try and stem the accusations. It succeeded in making the dealer angrier. "That is my fault. You see, we are recently engaged. It's hard to keep myself from being affectionate." Acting had never been Hanzo's strong suit, but the tension from the other players relaxed immensely. The dealer was not buying it.

"Where's your ring at, then?" Well shit. Hanzo frowned and Jesse, to his left, stiffened minutely. They had no considered someone would bring up a ring. Of course, it was an obvious question and a clear oversight on their supposed bulletproof cover.

"Look, the world's endin' and we're gettin' the shit kicked outta us by the government," Jesse growled, his fist connecting with the table. It rattled the chips and made the dealer's glare even worse. The sounds around them hushed, lowering down to a soft buzz as they watched the spectacle going on. "It was a hasty proposal. Been sweet on 'im for years. We ain't got a ring 'cause I ain't got the money for that. Now, if you keep callin' into question his or my honor, we're gonna have a problem."

Shifting in his seat, Hanzo gave Jesse a gentle squeeze on his forearm, "Perhaps I could move seats? Would that help this all out?"

"Yes." The dealer grunted begrudgingly, clearly not wanting either McCree or Hanzo to remain at his table. But it didn't really matter that much. In the end, what they were getting was enough for the night and not a coin more. Hanzo stood, but was immediately stopped by McCree grabbing his sleeve. They shared a silent look, an emotion in his partner's eyes that Hanzo was unsure of how to describe. It wasn't concern, or anger. It wasn't anything bad at all. Perhaps, if he had to name it, if he was forced, it was something like longing. Like Jesse didn’t want their engagement charade to end. Didn't want their soft touches and stupid insipid giggles to quiet.

Forcing down the bundle of emotions that made him feel this, Hanzo patted the hand and carefully uncurled McCree's fingers. They split the pot, giving Hanzo thirty and McCree keeping forty. The man who was wearing a vest and no hat offered to change places, putting Hanzo close to the dealer. Settling in, Hanzo set down his chips and waited passively.

“Been a long time since I saw a couple so in love,” The man commented as he took his new position at the table. Hanzo found it hard to breath, his heart racing below his skin, “This your final stop?”

“Nah, just not sure where to go.” Jesse’s easy answer gave Hanzo time to think.

“Blackwater - been hearin’ there’s something weird goin’ on up there. Maybe you fellas can suss it out.”

_ Success _ . Hanzo could almost cry in joy. A direct suggestion on where to go next and their biggest lead.

This round, McCree was the big blind. Normally that would be no issue, as Hanzo would be the small blind and they could get out betting the minimal. But the small blind set in twenty, and having only forty to his name, McCree sighed and pushed in his four white chips. "All in."

The cards were dealt and Hanzo once more found himself casing his opponents. Just like in a fight, every member had a different tell and a different style. Hanzo himself had built a facade of a tell - the over eager, happy, and flirty. When peeking at his cards, he found himself sitting with a pair of Aces. Something that was ridiculously good to have, the highest low scoring hand he could have. But in a split second he had to make a decision.

Did he keep going with his over eager, excited facade and allow the table to know he had a brilliant, winning hand? Or did he keep it low and let the trap he had laid finally spring? McCree was acting casual, though his brow raised at Hanzo, a question in his eyes: Good or bad?

"All in." A voice to his right prompted the decision. Hanzo worried his lip, biting down on it as he took one more glance at his cards. The betting settled to him, the table quiet.

"Well?" The dealer was definitely not pleased, his tone brooking on annoyed. Hanzo shifted in his seat, squirmed below the eyes.

"I am unsure I..." He looked at Jesse, eyebrows knitted and eyes pleading, "I suppose I could bid but then if we are wrong we are out, are we not?"

McCree smiled easily and shrugged, his thumb tipping up the brim of his hat as he leaned back in his chair, "Sugarplum, I can't see yer hand. Impossible fer me to t'tell you if y'should fold or bet. But I wouldn't worry, I'm real damn good at this game." That drew friendly chuckles from the other players. A few jabs and barbs, but nothing heated.

"All right. Well... All in!" Hanzo pushed his three white chips into the pot. The game continued, and with three of their players all in, it left the last two to fold or also go all in. One man did, the other folded.

The first three community cards revealed: A ten of hearts, an eight of spades, and a 5 of diamonds. An even spread, with no real earnings here or there. Hanzo let his worried look deepen. The man to his right was acting smug, his smile growing wider as the cards dropped. Jesse looked just at ease.

The next card landed as an ace and Hanzo shifted in his seat, his worried brows furrowing deeper yet. It came down to the final card, the river, handing over a King of Hearts.

"All right, reveal." Jesse ended up with two pair, which after the reveal, the man to Hanzo's right triumphantly whooped.

"Three of a kind!" A pair of eights sat in his hand. Hanzo bit back his smile. It was his turn first, the table looking at him.

"Is... Three of a kind with aces higher?" He asked, finally revealing the trap he had laid for the table with a triumphant grin. The participants went still and silent, all except Jesse who burst out laughing, doubling over. The man to his left could not beat it, if his cursing and throwing of his cards was anything to go by.

In one round, they had went from seventy coins to... Hanzo counted them quickly. Five hundred. That was more than enough for the board and probably another horse plus provisions. Standing, he took up the pile of chips and motioned to the dealer, who was still stunned in silence.

"We'll be cashing out now." Smug triumph sang in Hanzo’s voice. It felt good to have played and won, especially given the pot they had got. McCree was still cheering, his laughter wildly bright as they collected their gains and sauntered, arm in arm, back to the front desk.

"Now, we'll be takin' that room after all, ma'am. Hope y'don't mind."

With a look like she bit into a sour lemon, the woman gave them the key. Hanzo took to climbing the stairs immediately, exhausted in many ways. The cowboy’s heavy clomping, jingling step followed behind like a weighted shadow. “Jesse,” he said as he rubbed his eyes, “we’re going to have to buy horses and supplies in the morning. Hopefully there is enough winnings for that.”

"Y’know," Jesse's twang rumbled from behind him, making him look over his shoulder. The other man had a shit eating grin, the sort that spoke volumes more than whatever drivel was about to come out of his mouth. "You've been doing that a lot lately."  
"Doing what, Jesse?" Their hotel room was the last one in the hall, situated the furthest from the stairs. No window either. If they have to escape, it will be a tight, uncomfortable battle. Hanzo hoped it didn't come to that. Taking out the key the attendant had given him, he opened their door and stepped inside.

A large four poster bed sat front and center, taking up most of the room. A holoscreen television rested upon the wall nearest the door, but like all electronics, it was black and useless. A gorgeous, antique dresser sat below the television, holding a simple pendulum clock. Everything was carved and made of the same rich, dark wood. It was a style that the Marston's had embraced too. One that Hanzo found endearing, natural.  
"That. You keep doing that." If Jesse wasn’t about to elaborate more, Hanzo was going to ignore him. With a groan, he flopped down onto the bed and was immensely surprised to find it not only soft, but exceptionally supportive. The blankets below him were cotton, and the top comforter was a hand stitched quilt. An honest to God quilt. "Using my first name and all."  
His first name? Looking up from the bed, he curiously watched as Jesse dropped off the saddle bags and stretched onto his tip toes, arching like a cat as several loud cracks popped in the air. Apparently the literal dirt nap they had shared the prior night did no favors to Jesse's back either. But that wasn't what held his attention.  
No, it was the way Jesse's body looked in that moment - hard in places and soft in others. there was a noticeable padding around his center, but Jesse's thighs and arms could kill a man. Not to mention his hands, so warm and big that Hanzo felt much like a child when they touched him on the back or head - protected. Safe. Loved.  
"I fail to see what you are getting at, Jesse." 

The cowboy growled and turned, eyes narrowing to thin slits as he jabbed an accusatory finger at Hanzo. "Now you gotta just be makin' fun of me, sugar. I might act like an uneducated hick, but I know a lot." Jesse huffed. Biting the inside of his lip was the only thing keeping a wicked smile from curling on Hanzo’s lips. Even if he really had no idea what Jesse was going on about, Hanzo couldn't deny the fact he enjoyed riling up the other. "Japanese culture an' all, you use the first name when you're close or intimate with someone."  
Had he? Hanzo considered their interactions ever since the ambush in the quarry and realized, with a tinge of mortification and amusement, that he had been using Jesse's name almost nonstop. "It is an antiquated gesture, with how westernized Japan has become. Still practiced, but only by those who are more traditional."  
"Says the fella walking around with half a tit out, carrying a bow, and going on and on about honor? Yeah, I think the term 'traditional' fits you to a tee, buttercup." Jesse's wicked grin caught him off guard, forcing a bark of a laugh out. Damn that man and his irresistible charm.  
Sighing in defeat, Hanzo laid back fully to gaze at the ceiling, his back relishing the relief, "Yes, I suppose you are right, gunslinger. What are you getting at?"  
"I mean..." Jesse's voice lost the playful edge, softening into something more serious. Hanzo fought the urge to look at him, his heart speeding up. Would he ask about his feelings? Hanzo had not been very subtle downstairs. Not with his flirting or easy banter. If his feverish dreams were anything to go by, he probably had filled the cowboy's head with all his secrets. But what mattered the most, what kept him on edge, was whether or not he would be willing to tell it all if asked. "Don't it mean we're close, Hanz?"  
Oh. relieved laughter echoed out of Hanzo, his chuckles light and friendly as he sat up, "You have attended my wounds, slept beside me many nights, shared with me your home, fought alongside me, and pretended to be my fiance. Jesse McCree, the only way we could become closer would be to surgically join us at the hip."  
The cowboy blinked a few times, as stunned as if one of his flashbangs had caught him off guard. "I... I guess you're right. Didn't rightly think about it."  
"Now," Hanzo patted the space to his right, "Come and rest. This bed is perhaps the best thing to happen this trip thus far."


	9. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: racism, past transphobia, misgendering, panic attacks

Sleep had never been easy for McCree. There were nightmares and memories that kept twisting him around, his head muddled and filled with contradictory people and words. But so far, this trip?

Jesse woke up like he had the night before, and the night before that: Slowly, with soft morning light filtering in the air. Birds outside were chirping, and from a ways away, he could hear the soft conversation of folk. The bar downstairs was mostly quiet, some shuffling and walking on creaky boards and stairs. Outside, muffled and barely heard, was the clacking of horse hooves on asphalt and cobblestone. Taking a deep breath, Jesse smiled and let himself take in the best part of morning.

Most of the tension that Hanzo carried during the day was gone during sleep like someone just walked up and shoved their thumb between his eyebrows and smoothed out every fold and wrinkle. His soft breathing was even and deep. There's a peace he didn't know the archer had, especially considering the past they both had.

For a moment he allowed himself to pretend that maybe they're the same. Maybe, the cover story that had blown up into a fictive narrative of love and grandeur offered them something they needed. Support. Caring. Safety.

A door downstairs opened, shifting the atmosphere in the building. The curtain in their window shifted, swaying in the draft, and letting the light shine down on Hanzo's face. It softened out the hard cheekbones, the steep nose, and the glass cut jaw. What it lefts behind was a softer, healthier man who was finally getting some well-deserved sleep.

But it didn’t last. Hanzo's nose twitched and he muttered something in Japanese. Cat? Genji? Regardless, he rubbed his nose and shifted, squinting around the room. Hanzo might be the most elegant thing on the battlefield and poised like ice around the toughest situations, but he woke up like the dead rising from their grave - grumpy and befuddled and altogether too damn adorable.

"Mornin'," Jesse whispered, drawing Hanzo's narrowed eyed look. Grunting in response, the archer laid his head back down and sighed.

"Five more minutes."

Well... Jesse shifted on the bed and got comfortable... That suited him just fine.

Five minutes became ten and then a half hour later they're finally checking out. Hanzo was no longer befuddled, but put together and perfect. Jesse chewed on his cigar and smiled, taking the archer's hand in his own.  They have business to attend to and the first thing on their list was grub.

Breakfast was a quick affair. There wasn’t a lot of options, but he does get to treat Hanzo to a southern favorite: Shrimp and grits. They ate in relative silence, only a few words exchanged here and there for salt or hot sauce. The view from the restaurant wasn’t spectacular, just a few windows that gave a sheltered view of the swampy marsh outside. Still, there was a simple beauty in watching nature just be nature. Without the sound of electricity or the ever gentle, low thrumming hum of hardlight, the world breathed a quiet sort of sigh that Jesse had almost forgotten.

" _ Shinrin-yoku _ ," Hanzo said in a low, whisper-soft voice. It was rare for him to speak first, to be the one to break up the silence. From the corner of McCree's eyes, he could see his partner staring into the thicket of trees with a wistful, longing smile. "It is a word in Japanese. Forest bathing, or reconnecting with nature and letting it heal you."

Reconnecting with nature. Despite being on the run after leaving Overwatch, most of Jesse's hideouts and motels had been coated in electronics. Even now in the organization, in a place where he could take better care of himself, the outside offered only a place to smoke. "Smart people, the Japanese," he commented before turning to look more squarely at Hanzo. He gave his companion a broad smile, "But I already knew that. Got the smartest one at my hip."

Four weeks ago, that joke would have landed with little aplomb. A week ago it would have gotten an eye roll at best. Today, the small curve of a smile and gentle crinkle of Hanzo's eyes was new. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Jesse." He stood first and walked away, heading to the exit.

Jesse remained so he could watch him walk away; for just a moment admiring the view. Nature was a beautiful thing.

An extra horse was purchased as well as the supplies they needed. Clothes for starters ended up being a big one. While Jesse was smart enough to save the things they needed, like ammo, weapons, and first aid, the clothing had been more or less lost. A single change was all that made it into the saddlebags. It wouldn't be the first time Jesse had washed his clothes in a creek, but it would be the first time to do so with the heavy threat of omnic retaliation. It made the blissful, country moment a little too tense for his tastes.

Leaving Thieves Landing behind was odd - a bittersweet longing settled in Jesse's chest as they crossed the landing bridge. He had never enjoyed the area before - it was named thusly for a reason - but he knew it. It was a part of his childhood or his history. Leaving it behind in a dusty trail as Hanzo and Jesse worked away from the car-clogged highways into the grassy, wild trails, made McCree feel as if he was saying goodbye to an old friend. 

Lord, he was getting sentimental in his old age.

"What do you know about Blackwater?" It was some time into their ride, the quiet of nature turning from peaceful to oppressive. Something about the silence settled wrong on Jesse’s skin. A man who could be described as part desert, who had the wild running in his veins as thick a blood, and even this unadulterated, unsaturated world was a little too much. It felt a lot like plunging one’s hand into hot water when it was freezing cold. The sensation was numbing, tingling, and uncomfortable. So he spoke, to fill the space, but to also inform.

Hanzo looked over at Jesse and shrugged one shoulder, "Nothing. I know it is a central hub of sorts, by how the people in the brothel spoke of it. I also know that it is a major government area or some such. What  _ should _ I know about Blackwater." Hanzo, bless his heart, was learning quick that the truth was hidden. Jesse blew out slowly and looked at the sky, wondering how to approach the topic.

"Same shit, different area. You're right that it is a governmental area, so for the most part, it was spared the brunt of the omnic disaster that the rest of the south had to endure." Bombs that carved long lasting signatures into the earth; fortified shelters and buildings that were left standing open and abandoned, like skeletons risen from the past to chase away the living. Dead machines, their bodies baking in the sun, kept pristine due to low moisture.

"But the thing was, being a government area, a lot of omnics made the city their 'last stand' so t'speak. Couple of big 'nes, but mostly just a whole helluva lot of lil guys." They rode further away from the swampy marsh of Thieves Landing. The main roads were impassable, the cars that choked them a timely obstacle. Thankfully, animal trails and enthusiasm for horseback riding kept many trails open and viable. Including the dusty gravel and dirt one that Hanzo and he rode upon. It'd been some time since the road was taken care of - large washboard ruts sliced into the ground, and big holes made the horses weave back and forth. Trees, growing wild and tangled, covered the heated day in dappled shadows, the underbrush thick and bountiful. Might've been years since this little swatch of land had a human even see it, and here in the last few months it'd become a major thoroughfare of traffic. Funny, how when things went to the shitter, the old ways grew up like roots in the cracks of civilization.

_ 'Course, _ Jesse thought with a frown,  _ this wasn't supposed to happen. _ Sighing, he forced himself to continue the story lest he fall into darker thoughts. "Big old fight. Some of the worst that the war here saw. The damage was catastrophic on a building level, but the environment really took the hit. See as the Omnics started losing they were pushed further and further towards the shore and the water's edge. Course the military was just so damn gungho, winning a war they had been losin' before.

"So they got these omnics in the water, and they just start mortaring the hell out of 'em. Raze the earth sort of mortar." Jesse grimaced, knowing what that sort of explosive bombardment sounded like all too well. A subtle ache in his left arm flared. "Dumbasses didn't think hard about it. That was a major lake and a few rivers. Gallons and gallons of oil was dumped into the area. So much, turned the whole lake and the surrounding rivers pitch black."

Jesse glanced at his partner for the first time. Hanzo was staring wide-eyed, his face pale as the information sunk in. Softly, the archer spoke, "So, it was named Blackwater before the incident."

"Nope. It was something like Richmond, but after the whole fiasco they renamed it Blackwater. Made it into a tourist trap. Scrubbed most of the scent from the air and said it was a natural oil reservoir that settled right up against the shore." It stunk, too, like diesel. Jesse wasn't a very picky man, but he hated they had to go  _ there _ of all places. 

"That cannot be good for any citizen," Hanzo muttered, his head dropped down to stare at the neck of the horse he was riding. "And no one cares?"

"Who do they complain to, Hanzo? The government?" Both men fell silent then, knowing too well the shackles and corruption that ran rampant, especially in a situation like this. At least Hanzo knew what to expect - the stinking, black water and the den of snakes they were riding into.

No amount of warning could have prepared Hanzo. Jesse knew that now. 

Blackwater had been changed many times in the years that Jesse had been alive, but it had eventually grown into a thriving metropolis filled with every sort of comfort one would expect from a modern megacity. Certainly, the tourism side of things were down; the government wasn’t exactly keen on letting folks too close to the wastes, but it still lived brightly and dazzled effortlessly.

Built on the edge of a massive lake, two large highways lead in and out of the city.

From where they had come to stop on the crest of a hill, the world and town laid below them felt like a fantasy they could walk away from.

Hanzo’s hand gripped onto Jesse’s shirt, like a child holding onto their mother. 

One bridge, the easternmost, was destroyed near where it attached to land on the other side of the lake. Hover cars and trucks of all shape and sizes crammed on the bridge; like toys forgotten and dumped there by a giant to be put away properly later. Scorched black marks covered the bridge and vehicles around it, glass covering the ground. The force of the explosion had been enough to bend the steel into the jagged mouth of a hungry monster, one that swallowed the torn metal and broken vehicles into its watery depths.

The Westernmost bridge was still intact, but a long row of military green vehicles patrolled the exit bound area. A buffer of the untouched bridge stood between the end of cars and the army. Though, in the dimming light of evening, a million blinking red lights, like malevolent eyes, shone through. Bombed. 

Jesse sucked in a shuddering breath and gripped the reins tighter, making the leather squeak. Armadillo had been fashioned in the aesthetic of the old west, for local tourism before it was shut down, but Blackwater had not. The juxtaposition of their modern world, filled with the dead and useless cars and hollow lights strung along roads and buildings sent hollow, aching terror in Jesse’s gut. It had felt wrong before, but now, with modern civilization just a step or two away, the wrongness was unimaginable.

“How could they?” Hanzo’s voice wavered. How many had died on the eastern bridge, attempting to flee? Jesse didn’t even want to think of the inevitable announcement as to why they were cut off from leaving. 

Softly, Jesse added, “How many innocent omnics died ‘cause of this?” There was a strangled, pained noise from Hanzo. People and omnics had been sacrificed for what amount to security and silence. To look strong for the world.

They remained there, either in horror or disgust, watching as the sun set over the horizon in a flurry of dark reds and oranges. It usually was so beautiful, but now it made Jesse shudder. It was too close to rising flames; the very flames they were promised if Hanzo and he couldn’t contact Overwatch. Everything would be leveled, the loss of life unimaginable, and then like it had the first time, swept under the rug.

“We need to get a room.” Of course, it was Hanzo who pulled Jesse from his dark thoughts. He was grateful for the archer. Reaching up, he placed a gloved hand on his companion's arm, grounding himself to the moment. “And then we can make a---”

Whatever was on Hanzo’s tongue was lost to the moment. As the sun dipped lower and the darkness settled onto the buildings like a funeral shroud, a singular flicker of light burst the city, for a moment, into illumination. Breathlessly they watched as half of the city, those closest to the water’s edge, burst into light. Building by building, the brilliant lights popped into existence, clouding the night air with color. 

Distracted as they had been before, what with the bridges and the heavy shadow of the army so close and poised to destroy them, neither McCree nor Hanzo had really seen the city. Now, the lights made the marked delineation of wealthy overwhelming. Closest to them, darkness huddled around the houses like a thick blanket, softening the rotting wood or broken windows of the low income.

Those within the light’s pollution, not even having their own, were much better off. And then, further forward, were a few lights - in a window here or there, or perhaps on a street corner. Like fragments of the rich had tumbled carelessly into the middle class. As well, the pollution kept everything moderately bright but made the shadows deeper.

And of course, there was those poised at the water’s edge, blasting their wealth in a very unique and numbing way. It was almost painful to see. Certainly, Marston’s ranch had not been dark - Abby and John had oil lamps and such to light their homes - but this was a world that seemed so distant. It had only been three days away from electricity and modern trappings, but after what they had endured, it felt much longer. The intimate nature of the wilderness and the natural glowing warmth of fire was radically different than the pale lifeless fluorescent and plasma that burned and bled into the night sky.

“How is this even possible? I thought it was…” 

“I’m thinking,” Jesse said breathlessly, the light of the tallest buildings budding hope in his chest, “that old fellas intel was good, Hanzo. There’s gotta be a way out through here. If they got that goin’ on, there’s bound to be a way across the lake and back to normal civilization.”

Wordlessly, they exchanged a glance. Eyes filled with hope and worry, the first step towards a solution that might not involve violence or pain on their part. They had to play their cards right.

But Jesse wasn’t too worried - Hanzo was a damn good poker player and well, so was he.

They rode into town then, keeping to the pavement. Felt weird to walk their horses along the smooth asphalt of a well cared for multi-lane road, between the broken down and broken in hover vehicles. He pushed it away, following the blocks as they snaked inward.

“Where should we stay, Jesse?” Hanzo glanced over at his companion. As they moved from the silent lower class into the middle-class area, the world seemed to return to life. Conversation buzzed casually around them, the soft sound of other horses in the air. There was the clink of glass and laughter bubbling everything. Shops had chalkboard or paper signs hanging in their windows, many with clerks outside, shouting their wares where the shadows were too deep to make out what lay inside easily. Here, the cars had been pushed and stacked nearly to the sides, giving wide berth for horse and human alike to walk freely.

“Somewhere around here. Gonna need to get some better duds too.” Sighing, Jesse tilted his head back and examined the streets, leading them along to a new block. No hotels were readily seen, but without helpful electronic signs or guides, the city was practically a maze of goods and life. Most of the signposts and screens that would host such information stared back at them like the blank eyes of the damned. Jesse shivered, gritting his teeth as he tucked his head down. How the folks living here could stand the… the  _ wrongness _ of everything was beyond him. The disparity of who had power and who didn’t, of who was kept in the dark and who wasn’t, rubbed him raw. It would’ve been enough to drive Jesse far from town, but hell… Home was home. Sometimes you swallowed too much shit believin’ things would get better or were just normal.

They wandered further in, the light pollution of the upper-class sector growing steadier. It deepened the shadows, making Jesse nervous as they went. Whatever lurked in those alleys and tucked away places could do no good. The vulnerability was high here - it was screamed in the lines of the people’s faces. So eager to hold onto their old life they blatantly put themselves in danger - calling out goods, leaving doors wide open, acting as if their security systems and monitors and cameras still functioned just fine. Maybe it was enough deterrent, but Jesse doubted it. It wasn’t enough when the power was there when it was gone what more was it than a broken scarecrow to a smart crow? 

But their searching paid off - The corner of a block was taken by one large building, the inside lobby bright with fire and oil light. ‘HOTEL’, read the bold curving script of painted letters on the window. A surprise, given that Jesse could tell it was the expensive tech meshed type that would be ruined with that sort of oily paint covering it.

Hitching their horses outside, Jesse grabbed the saddlebags off his horse and Hanzo did the same, both men stepping inside.

At one point the parlor had been splendid. There were multiple comfortable seating arrangements in tight squares around what was now black circle on the ground but had once been a holo-projector. It was a miracle a fireplace even was here, and that it worked, but the aesthetic of the room was a merger of old world touches and new world sensibility. What took their attention the most was not the room nor the decor, but the two people at the far end, yelling loudly back and forth.

"I can't believe you went and had our window painted!" The older gentleman was balding and stooped. Thin wire glasses clung stubbornly to the sharp slope of his nose. He spoke adamantly to the woman that stood beside him. Her dark brown hair was shorn short, a set of glasses similar to his on a much gentler nose. Huffing, she tucked her arms around her and scowled.

"You're not going to do this," she declared, "We can't use them, Daddy. This way folks know what we are."

Sighing, her father (lord, Jesse hoped), rubbed at his face, "Girl, the government gave us that chip reader for a reason. They're going to restore everything to the rightful workin' order. We're gonna be the only place in town without workin' windows."

"You can't seriously believe them."

"Rachael, now isn't the time."

“How much is a room?” Hanzo cut in, his voice polite but firm. It did funny things to Jesse’s stomach, twisting it up in gorgeous knots.

“A hundred fifty gold a night sir --” The girl began, flashing a perfect customer service smile.

“OR!” Cut in her old man, “A hundred and fifty credits.” Both Hanzo and Jesse were caught off guard, stiffening up.

“Daddy!” Exasperated, the young woman shouted and turned on the older man, “how in the world we gonna pay for necessities with credits?”

Giving both Hanzo and Jesse an apologetic smile, he held both hands out palms up and shrugged helplessly. The gesture and dismissive attitude towards the girl’s worries rubbed Jesse wrong, but he held his tongue for the moment. Room. Escape. Room. Escape. “See, the Government gave us credit readers just today. They’ve been slowly returning the power to Blackwater. Once they do, we’re gonna need credits to make up for that  _ mess _ on our windows.” The owner shot a dirty look to his daughter and Jesse had to clench his teeth.

Sighing, the girl tugged at her golden locks, “I can’t believe you! You know not to trust them. They fucked us over before ---”

“Language!” He interrupted, aghast.

“--- and they’ll do it again, Daddy. You can’t be daft ‘nough to believe this is gonna end well.”

“Sweetheart, they’ve returned most of the lights already,” the owner spoke slowly, patronizing the girl and Jesse could feel his blood pressure rising, anger simmering higher and higher. “They promised that and they’ve done it. Now, I know ya ain’t too keen on them, what with the bridges, but that was just an accident sweetie. We can’t keep livin’ in these dark times.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. “Now see here --”

“WE will pay with credits,” Hanzo said quickly, cutting off his partner. Snapping his mouth shut, Jesse seethed as Hanzo handed over a personal banking card. Delighted, the owner took it and walked towards the desk at the far side of the room. Both Jesse and Hanzo followed, standing on one side while the man set the card down and ran a magnetized strip over it quickly. 

“Thank you fellas. I’ll have the girl up in a bit with some hot water for your bath.” They were handed an old-fashioned bronze key, a number ‘4’ on a tag tied to it.

Hanzo’s grip was steel on Jesse’s forearm as he dragged him up the stairs and towards their room. He was only released once inside the room. His arm was dropped as if it burned Hanzo and the man stormed further inside.

The room was in a similar style to downstairs. A good sized queen bed took up most of the single wall. A large dead screen took part of the opposite wall, like a blind eye staring at the bed. Jesse stood stock still, unable to look away from the screen. He wasn't a man to be frightened by much, but the eerie feeling it gave him made him wince.

He pushed the thought from his mind and stepped further inside, the door closing behind him. Hanzo was setting down his saddlebag, leaving the two in quiet tension.

"I don't take kindly to being told to shut up, Hanzo. I had somethin' to say to that man and --"

"And it would have gotten us kicked from his hotel," Hanzo interrupted.

Exasperated, McCree dropped onto the bed with a gentle bounce. The stetson was taken and thrown to a corner, bouncing on the wall with a gentle 'thwump' sound. "There's gotta be other places to stay. Man is a bigot and I don't take kindly to their attitudes."

Silence rang between them as Hanzo shuffled through the saddlebags, pulling out their clothes and other necessities. As each second dripped by like sticky molasses, Jesse was left to stew in his own indignation.

"You are too straightforward.” Hanzo finally stated in a  matter of fact tone. “Sometimes there are routes that can only be taken by being discreet," It took more willpower than Jesse was aware he had to keep from scoffing.

There was a knock on their door, and both men went quiet. Though still feeling unhappy at Hanzo for interrupting him, he remained silent and sat upon the edge of the bed. As expected, the person at the door was the young woman, carrying two steaming galvanized buckets of water.

“Here’s your water.” She stepped past Hanzo, the sound of her heels clicking and clacking against the tiles as she entered the dark bathroom. Jesse rubbed his forehead, listening to the sloshing sound of water fill the tub and echo in the small room. Returning to the main room, she nodded to both men. “If ya need anything, please give me a holler and I’ll try and accommodate you.”

“Before you go,” Hanzo spoke quickly, his smile as polite as hers, though the young woman’s was certainly more put upon, “I was hoping you might be able to give us some information we need.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really know anything.” Her smile was sharp and bitter, the sting of her father’s words clearly coloring her perception. Jesse barely resisted the urge to tell Hanzo ‘I told you so’.

That desire vanished when the archer offered out a purse of gold. Their last gold. Jesse stared, tongue-tied. “I believe,” Hanzo considered softly, “this would more than compensate your time.”

Skeptically, she picked the bag up and peeked inside. “This is enough gold for a two night stay here. Just what do you want me find out for you?”

“Where to get a good set of clothing,” Hanzo started, pressing one finger down and then another, “also, there is a rumor about getting out of Blackwater by the government. I want to know how to get this invitation.”

Frowning, she glanced to the bag and then to Hanzo, “If you think my Daddy is gonna let me walk out of here with this much gold, you must be stupid.”

Hanzo’s sly smile curled warmth in Jesse’s gut. “Not at all. That is why you should tell him he was right. Credits are going to be back and you must head out to cash in on them for necessities. Then, you can use this gold to get what you need as well as my information.”

A look of surprise flashed across her face before it once more returned to suspicion. "Why? You don't have any reason for being nice to me."

Humming softly, the archer nodded, "You are correct. I do not need to be nice to you, but..." Hanzo's voice was softer, more velvet, "my father treated me much the same way. He acted as if my opinions were meaningless or that I knew less than I did. I know what you are going through, and while I did not make a scene on your behalf, I can at least circumvent his power and give it back to you."

From what Jesse knew of Sojiro Shimada, the man was an enigma of unrelenting expectations and endless indulgence. How both Genji AND Hanzo had survived was beyond him, and right now Jesse was struck by the words. Hanzo's opinion wasn't considered? He was treated like that? But why? Hanzo was the heir, trained from birth to take over the Shimada-gumi.

What in the world would be bigger and more important than being firstborn in the eyes of a hierarchical leadership?

"Well... I suppose I will do what I can. Can't guarantee I'll find out what you need, though," she warned, still clearly dubious about the whole thing. Hanzo only smiled and shook his head.

"You are intelligent and resourceful. You must be, considering this place has not fallen into ruin despite your father's ignorance." That made the girl chuckle, her cheeky grin bright. "I expect information as good as this room, and will accept nothing less."

Humming, she finally nodded and tucked the pouch away in her bosom, "Got yourself a deal. I'll be back in a few hours with the info you want. Thanks."

"Thank you." The woman left, leaving Hanzo and Jesse once more in awkward silence.

Sighing, Jesse rubbed the back of his head and sincerely wished he had his hat, "I'm sorry, Hanz. Didn't know 'bout your Dad. I thought he woulda respected your intelligence and finesse."

Wide-eyed surprise lightened Hanzo's face, his brown eyes warm as they glanced at McCree. It never ceased to do marvelous things to the archer's face. All the muscles seemed to relax and a light, frequently hidden from the world, radiated from him. Especially his small, private smile. A smile, Jesse had learned through careful, meticulous observation, was only given to him.

"Do not beat yourself up, Jesse. Most would assume otherwise." Reassured, he nodded to Hanzo. "Now, we should take advantage of a hot bath. It has been a few days and neither of us are smelling fresh."

Barking out a laugh, McCree nodded in agreement, "Sure thing partner. I think you should go first. Still got some bandages that might get infected if you take the second bath."

"Considerate. Thank you, cowboy." Stepping closer, Hanzo stood between his spread legs. It lit a fire in his belly, so hot and fast, that it sucked all the oxygen from his lungs. In that daze he watched as Hanzo reached down and carded his beard hair between his fingers. Frozen, rooted in place, all Jesse could do was blink as his partner continued to toy with his hair. "You should trim up too."

Too soon Hanzo's hand was pulled away, the man giving him a wicked smile before he turned and walked towards the bathroom. Jesse took in a sharp breath, remembering once more to blink and breathe. He didn't know where that came from, but it was a sharp punch in the gut, his emotions twisting like a frazzled mess.

First, getting out of here. Then? Maybe it was time for Jesse to bite the bullet and admit that there was something a little... More than friendship going on between them.

\---

It didn’t take long for Rachael to return with results. Turned out there was a rumor spreading around town about a way out of Blackwater. Only the famous could access it though. Locked by the richest woman in town, Patricia Montgomery. Ironically, heiress to an oil fortune.

Their suits were bought at a store nearby, though Hanzo passed upon it, opting for his formal kyudo-gi attire. It left Jesse pressed into finery he was unused to, but he swallowed it down.

All it took was a little bit of bragging about being  _ the _ Joel Morricone, the world-renowned journalist, and flashing some credits here and there before they found their way.

Jesse itched in the suit. He had worn a fair share in his time with Blackwatch. There was always a reason to get gussied up - from running a honeypot scheme to simply acting as a silent bodyguard during an U.N. event. The reasons for donning formal attire seemed limitless. So the pressed slacks, waistcoat, and duster were a relatively commonplace thing in Jesse's life. And from how Hanzo kept stealing little glances, he wore it damn well.

But standing in a group of folk and pretending to be someone he was never easy. Even as a charming man, Jesse hated to use his God-given gift like this. Made him feel dirty. Made him feel like he was doing something real wrong.

About as wrong as standing in a technological oasis as half the city behind him was steeped in ink black darkness. Jesse felt, physically felt, the pressure of the lights on his skin, the dazed information haze descending over him as pictures and colors swam by on seamless holographic and crisp HD monitors. Music tinkled everywhere, overwhelming the sound of conversation and the buzz of hardlight.  
It was so loud. It was so _agonizingly_ loud.

Information was needed, and if he didn't suck it up and deal with his feelings later, then shit could hit the fan. So he plastered a charming smile on his face and took the offered hand of the woman before him, kissing her gloved knuckles.

"You must be the beautiful Miss Montgomery. Thank you ever so much for invitin' us to your party."

Miss Montgomery flashed him a dazzling smile, "Oh, it is my pleasure to be hosting  _ the _ Joel Morricone. We've been without internet for some time so I am behind, but your story about the fellow that saved that ramen shop was so interesting! I do love your writing, Joel."

"Bless your heart. Thank you, Ma'am. That's how my partner and I wound up in this place - heard rumblings and wanted to get down here and report."

"Ah yes." Her eyes turned to Hanzo. There was no hiding the critical way her eyes sharpened, or how her smile became a little more forced. Seemed that being a bit cut off from the outside world had caused a plethora of unsavory attitudes to rise again. To Hanzo's credit, he remained placid to her staring. "I was wondering about this handsome man. Are you going to introduce me, Mr. Morricone?"

"Hanzo." There was no time for Jesse to speak, Hanzo did it for him. Just stepped right in, voice as firm as a brick wall. "Hanzo Shimada, at your service Lady Montgomery." He took her proffered hand and kissed the gloved knuckles too.

"Now, sugar, I don't mean to be rude." Oh Lord, here they go. Jesse stiffened, prepared to defuse a situation that was boiling in the nightmarish fires of racism and bigotry. "But are you talking about the Shimada from Japan? The big name family?"

What? Jesse blinked owlishly, but Hanzo remained unphased. He only nodded.

"That is correct. I am one of the few remaining alive after the collapse."

Miss Montgomery pressed a hand to her bust, a sharp intake of air punctuating her startled look. "Goodness! It's such a surprise. How'd you two meet?"

"Business," Jesse replied

Hanzo rushed over him, "Bodyguard."

Their simultaneous answers left them a little awkward. Clearing his throat, Jesse forged on, "I hired Hanzo as a bodyguard a few times. We've hit it off and well, he's my fiancé now."

"Really?” Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked over Hanzo once more, “Congratulations Mr. Morricone. That's a rare breed, you know? The Shimadas are basically extinct." Oh, that left a sour taste in Jesse's mouth. His eyes narrowed at the woman, but she didn't seem to notice. "Anywho, I must get to the other guests. I hope you enjoy the night!"

Jesse lead them from the door, a hand planted in the small of Hanzo's back as a warning to others. A warning of what? That he'd protect the archer? Hanzo could probably snap his arm in half and take out the whole room with a salad fork. Still, Jesse couldn't lift his hand away from where it had landed. Warmth radiated from the suit and he was suddenly acutely aware of the naked, soft skin below the cloth. Just begging, waiting, to be touched. Taking in a shaky breath, Jesse approached a far side and turned to his partner.

"You okay? I'm sorry about her, darlin'. A lot of these folks are--"

"Idiots. But Jesse, you are not their handlers. Do not apologize for them as if you are to blame." Hanzo's smile was tiny, soft. The sort of one that Jesse noticed he shared privately. A gift.

But they needed to get information and this party was the best source. As much as he wanted to focus on Hanzo, he needed to focus on getting them  _ home. _

Eavesdropping at a party was easy. All they had to do was mingle quietly, drink, and socialize. Being the 'outsiders', not many wanted to really engage them. So that left the duo to nurse their drinks and watch the party.

But instead of hints about the evacs going out of the marsh, the name Shimada kept popping up. It was on everyone's mouth, whispers like the wind through an old house. A creak here, a groan there, a sigh there. Everywhere, the same words, spilling in different timbres and from different mouths.

_ "It's a shame really--" _

_ "Their family was quite prominent in the Japanese market. I've heard there's been a huge power vacuum thanks to it." _

_ "He must be one of the extended family." _

_ "-- Handsome. I wouldn't mind having him as my kept boy. Mm, can you imagine it?"  _ That one burned Jesse up. He wanted to go and find the speaker, remind them that Hanzo wasn't some 'thing' to have. He wasn't a 'breed'. It made him sick and uncomfortable. Instead of fighting, Jesse's handmade small soothing circles on the small of Hanzo's back.

A soft latinx female voice spoke,  _ "It really all broke apart when the siblings fought." _ For the first time that night, Hanzo stiffened. If Jesse hadn't had a hand on his back, he'd have never noticed. No, Hanzo was just as calm as ever, a casual smile gracing his lips. But his spine, his muscles, all screamed tension and flight.

_ "Yes,” _ A condescending and nasally female voice spoke next,  _ “no one knows why the eldest daughter did that. Attacking the younger brother and leaving him for dead. It must have been politically motivated." _

_ "Of course! I mean, I cannot imagine a woman being a clan leader. They could not allow that." _

Huh? Now that didn't make a lick of sense. Had the story been warped? Like that one game - telephone. You whispered a message to a person near you, and it kept going along a line. It always warped the message. So they thought that it was an eldest daughter. But would everyone have the wrong idea? Because it was no longer two voices speaking, but the whole party now.

_ "Genji was the younger son. Irresponsible, from what I've heard, but more so dangerous to the family name. Perhaps it was a decision borne of need?" _

_ "It could be. What was her name? The eldest. She died not long after that, during the coupe." _

_ "Something with an Ai..." _

Jesse glanced at Hanzo and caught the wide eyed, glassy look of panic that was rising. A slight tremble was taking over his limbs, his fingers. "Hanzo? Hanz? Hey, darlin'?"

_ "I believe it was Iris? No. Aime?" _

Short shallow breaths were coming from his partner. He tried to block out the voices of the others so he could focus on Hanzo, who very clearly needed some help. "Hanzo, please. You gotta talk to me. I need something. How can I help you?"

_ "Oh! I know what it is. Aiko! The eldest daughter was named Aiko." _

It was like something snapped in Hanzo. His glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the ground and bringing the rest of the party to a grinding halt. Jesse faltered and shot an apologetic grin at them all. Any who could see the archer knew what was happening - he was breathing rapidly in short, pained breaths that never seemed to fully suck in or out. Hanzo's fingers dug into Jesse's arm as he shook, holding on to dear life. "Sorry I think the family talk got to him. Ghosts and such. We all got 'em, hmm?"

Wrapping an arm around Hanzo's shoulders, he carefully steered the archer out of the hall and away from the prying, gossiping eyes. He didn't bother speaking, it was clear that whatever flashback or panic attack that was consuming Hanzo right now was stronger than anything Jesse could offer. 

Steps before the front door, Mrs. Montgomery decided to rear her head like a primordial monster, sensing blood upon the water like a shark. She swam to them effortless, parting waves of people with a few good natured smiles and pats. “Oh, Mr. Marricone, please follow me.” Lord knew he would rather leave, but there was still countless guests to wade through and Hanzo was too far gone to do more than hyperventilate. Reluctantly, Jesse adjusted their course to follow the Lady.

In the kitchen, they took a set of stairs discreetly hidden in the back up to the second floor. “Servants stairs,” she explained with a flip of a hand. “Best part of this house. Now….”

Three more steps and the trio was stepping into a nice, medium-sized room. A small bar sat to the far right, a fireplace dominating the center, and a ring of couches, loveseats, and chairs. A secondary, upstairs parlor. “I’ll keep the guests away from here. You two can rest and recover. Lord knows I understand how it feels to have a panic attack.”

Jesse was left befuddled, with a shaking Hanzo in his arms. The door closed softly behind her, leaving them in the cool twilight dusk of the room. Snapped from his stupor, McCree helped to guide the archer to a seat.

Whatever was going on with Hanzo was strong - he was shaking like a leaf, his eyes unfocused. Panicked, short breaths continued to wrack the archer. “Hanzo, honey you gotta calm down. It’s all right.” 

“I can’t. I can’t, Jesse, I can’t.” Hanzo’s voice rose louder and louder, tears welling in the corner of his eyes as he gripped onto the gunslinger’s arm for dear life. Those nails were tough too, digging straight into his tan skin. Still, he made no motion to jerk away, too worried about what was happening to his friend. Jesse had never seen Hanzo this out of control. “You hate me now, don’t you? You must. You and everyone and I cannot do this I ---”

In hindsight, it was a dumb idea, but Jesse was king of dumbass ideas that just happened to work. Desperate as he was to calm Hanzo and break the spell of terror, Jesse leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Hanzo stiffened as if struck before slowly unwinding, his eyes closing as he focused on the lips against his own.

It was chaste and quick, but enough to stop the panic attack it seemed. Jesse pulled back and cupped Hanzo’s face. He could feel the soft bristles of the archer’s beard against his fingers. “Sugar? You with me?”

There was no direct response. Frowning, Jesse stalked to the bar and started to fill a crystal cut glass with ice, the clinks loud in the quiet of the room. A bottle of spring water sat unopened to the far right, though McCree changed that quickly. He returned to Hanzo, who was still sitting as still as the dead.

“Hanzo.” Jesse’s voice was calm as he sat and pressed the cool, sweating glass into his hands. The archer flinched and blinked rapidly, coming back from whatever panic had held him in place. “Hey sugarcube. Drink this for me, will ya?”

There was a moment's hesitation before he started to sip. It gave Jesse enough time to think on what was happening, “You okay, sugar? You had some sort of episode.”

Silence. Not that Jesse really expected an answer, but it still stung. He'd hope that... That Hanzo trusted him enough to talk about whatever it was that was plaguing him, but clearly that was wrong. Clearly, Jesse was just wishful thinking. Before they could get moving again, Hanzo spoke.

"The name it…” He fell silent, the a thick clicking sound coming from Hanzo as he gulped. Ice clinked in the glass, rattled by his shaking hand. Scowling, Hanzo held his hand down. Whatever had gotten under his skin was really messing with him.

“It’s all right if ya don’t wanna talk about it, you know?” McCree couldn’t help but rub his friend’s back in small, soothing circles. At first, his companion flinched but quickly settled into the touch.

They remained that way, Hanzo sipping water and Jesse rubbing his back, for a few long minutes. “I want to tell you. It is… Something I have been meaning to bring up. Just never like this.” Hanzo spoke, breaking their silence once more, “Aiko… that is my dead name.”


	10. Dead Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: past child abuse, past homophobia, past transphobia

Coming to Overwatch had been a struggle for Hanzo. Let alone the constraints that an organization, unofficial as it was, would impose upon him, there was also the fact Genji would be there. Thinking back on it, the fear of his brother was almost comical. Genji was withdrawn, but polite - forgiveness did not translate to eagerness. At least not one-sided. He gave Hanzo time to settle in and get used to the base as well as the personnel.

In the end, it was Hanzo who approached his brother first, desperate one late evening.

It had been a cold day, autumn setting in heavily, the specter of a long, hard winter drawing lists of preparations from the doctor to their chief engineer. Hanzo had spent the day counting ammunition in the warehouse with McCree.

What the gunslinger had said ultimately pushed him out the door, the words nipping hot on his heels. He wound up at the cliffs, his brother’s chrome body outlined by the sun setting over the sea.

_ I know what happened between you two, of course. _ Jesse looked so surprised at Hanzo’s offer to tell all.  _ But I feel like ya deserve a second chance, Hanzo. I got one, you should get one too. _

Genji, sitting perfectly still, no sign of breathing or life. The fire of the sea highlighting the hard edges of a body inorganic. A living embodiment of Hanzo’s sin. Red and orange, cut with pink, dancing upon slowly moving waves.

“Hanzo.” He sounded weary. Probably feared that his brother had come to finish the job, to take what little ‘life’ Genji had left.

_ Your brother and I were in Blackwatch together. We were close friends. I was there through… Through all of what happened, Hanzo. I ain’t holdin’ that against you and neither is Genji. Means you shouldn’t let it drag you down either. _

Panic wrapped like spider silk around his chest, cinching tighter and tighter. Hanzo wobbled as he took a step forward.

_ You know everything, _ Hanzo had said with an edge of fear. He could hear the bigotry starting, the degradation and the insults and --

_ Yeah. ‘Bout you getting pushed by the clan and hurtin’ him. Then you ran, right? Disappeared? You know, he spent that first year looking for his brother and could never find hide nor hair of ya. _

Brother.

_ Brothers. _

“Why,” Hanzo managed to croak before dropping like a rock to his knees. He thudded heavily onto the ground, breathing growing more and more ragged. Genji turned and stood, his shadow cast over the archer.

“Hanzo? What is wrong? Did McCree say something to you?” Of course, Genji knew who he was working with. Had Genji known the whole time who he had been with? Had the hands-off approach only been that in theory?

“ _ Why _ ?” Desperation colored his tone. Hanzo dug his fingers into the soil, aching for something to distract him from the panic and confusion.

“Why what?” Soft metal rattled as the cyborg knelt in front of him. No more did Genji smell like terrible body wash or reeking cigarettes. Now the only scent that kept to him was that of faint motor oil, like the memory of a passing car.

“You did not tell him about me? About what I  _ am _ ?” How could he not? After everything Hanzo had done to him, after ‘killing’ him and taking away his life. After leaving Genji to suffer dysphoria and agony alone. After betraying him so deeply… How could Genji  _ still _ maintain that Hanzo was his  _ brother _ ?

“I am… Unsure of what you mean. Do I need to have a conversation with McCree?”

“No.” No, maybe it was a game by the cowboy. A power play of some sort. Still, if it was true that no one needed to know. Hanzo could take the secret to his grave.

So it hung over him like a dirty secret, like a shoe just waiting to drop. It weighed on Hanzo, his mind plagued with thoughts of ‘what if’. Especially, as he grew closer to the cowboy, they became frequent dark thoughts that drew him down.

So when McCree, upon hearing Hanzo say ‘dead name’ asked Hanzo:

“Your dead name? Like an old alias or somethin’?”

Well… Hanzo couldn’t function. He stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the cowboy, wanting to throttle him in equal measure as he wanted to sob. 

“You heard what they called me, did you not?” His mouth ran on autopilot.

“Uh… I mean, I think so?”

“Aiko.” He spat the name out as if it had burnt him, “Aiko killed  _ her _ brother.” God, saying it was making his skin crawl. Nausea burst forth, winning out the emotional tug war going on between crying or throttling by a landslide. Swallowing thickly, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

McCree scratched at his beard and shrugged limply, “Well yeah. I heard that. Just figured it was some sorta cover story you had cooked up.”

Anger boiled quickly in Hanzo, his discomfort translating to fury in a matter of moments. “ _ How _ could I cook up a cover story that would change my gender  _ and _ name, McCree?” What was this cowboy thinking? 

“I don’t know, Hanzo! Maybe you changed information around or somethin’,” Jesse yelled in exasperation, his hands raised high in defeat, “You summon dragons for chrissake. How was I supposed to know what ya can and can’t do?”

“That…” Brow furrowed, he was poised to argue, a finger sticking indignantly at Jesse. But it wilted, his frown growing deeper as Hanzo leaned back, “... Is a decent point.”

“Thank you.” Huffing, the cowboy sat back on the plush loveseat. Hanzo couldn’t help but close his eyes, the beginnings of a pressure headache pounding in his temples. A slow breath, and then another, helped greatly. The scent of clove and smoke clung off of Jesse, punctuated by the bitter smell of whiskey on his breath, helped even more.

Silence, typically so calm and comfortable, hung heavy and awkward between them. Hanzo wished he had said nothing. Then maybe, just maybe, he could have swept the whole incident under the rug. The cat was out of the bag now, and there was no putting it back.

“You mind uh, answerin’ a question I have?” Jesse’s voice was smooth and soft, asking the question like one might step onto a frozen lake.

“Go ahead.”

“You’re transgender.” Not the question, but Hanzo obliged it with a nod, even if the statement settled uncomfortably on his skin. Technically yes, he was transgender, but he preferred to simply be  _ Hanzo _ . “And you’ve wanted to tell me that for awhile now?” Another nod. Still, it was not the question; he could practically hear it approaching on heavy, serious feet. What would it be? Jesse already knew his dead name, so that wasn’t it. Perhaps about his genitals? That was always a hot topic at the clan meetings. Or maybe the cowboy would accuse Hanzo of lying to him? Such bigotry from Jesse’s lips would kill him emotionally, but he braced for it regardless.

What came was even more shocking.

“This’s what’s been botherin’ you, ain’t it?”

Hanzo flinched, surprised that this was the question Jesse asked. It came from nowhere, leaving him startled and laid bare, eyes wide. Jesse’s serious expression didn’t give an inch, just staring straight at him like an opposite mirror. Hanzo frantically stuffed his emotions below the cold emotionless mask. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know you, Shimada.” Jesse sounded so incredibly  _ tired _ , and Hanzo wasn’t sure if being annoyed or worried was the appropriate response, but his hackles bristled at the defeat in his voice. “I know you think you’re unreadable, but I’m here t’tell you that ain’t the case. Y’see, you end up in these moods where ya think too much, where ya brood or go quiet.”

Scoffing, Hanzo shook his head. When he spoke, he was proud no tremor vibrated his voice, “You are mistaken, I am almost always quiet.”

“It’s different, Hanzo.” Never before had someone so gently and quietly shut down an argument, but the weight of those words, the tiredness in Jesse’s eyes, stopped every rebuttal and counter remark. They dried up like water in a desert, evaporating in the truth of the sun. “Your head drops, you get this long off look, your eyebrows furrow, and ya just grow stiff Hanzo. It’s like someone grabs all your strings and jerks them at once. It’s subtle, I’ll give ya that, but you’re my goddamn friend.”

Of course Hanzo’s eloquent response, run by autopilot as he scrambled to get a hold of his emotions, only dug him deeper a hole, “You could read these, but not realize until now I’m transgender?”

“Look, Hanzo, I focus on the big picture.” Exasperated, the cowboy had taken off his hat and was running a hand through his trim, slicked back hair, “Not the little details.”

“Little?  _ Little? _ ” Hanzo barked a harsh laugh, the sound punching the silence of the room and drawing Jesse’s frown even deeper. “How is this a little detail, Jesse? You’ve been lied to for months now--”

“Hey now.” Too on a roll, Hanzo couldn’t take heed of the dark storm clouds gathering in his companion’s face.

“By someone you thought was a man. How is this a little detail, Jesse?”

The last time Hanzo had been scolded was prior to his father’s death. Then, it was all subtle manipulation by the clan elders. After that, no one was close enough or cared enough to scold Hanzo, except perhaps a doctor here or there, but that was part of their degree.

So when Jesse turned, face a mask of fury, his shoulders square and a finger in Hanzo’s face, Hanzo was undeniably shocked into silence. “Don’t you  _ ever _ talk about my best friend like that ever again.”

“What?”

“I won’t tolerate that sorta talk from anyone, especially not you.” Jesse calmed, his hand dropping limp back at his side. “Why would you say that about yourself, Hanzo? What’s happened to you to make ya feel that way?”

So much. A million words came to the forefront, elbowing and fighting their way for dominance. Short-circuited, all he could do was remain silent.

“You don’t gotta tell me, I’m sorry for askin.” Of course, kind and understanding McCree would back down immediately. Hanzo shook his head, eyes pinched shut. A slow sigh left him deflating into the loveseat cushion, his head resting now on his companion's shoulder.

“This has been something I have been meaning to tell you about.” Hanzo’s voice barely carried, but there was a trace of relief woven into his words, “There is so much and so little. It might come out jumbled.”

“That’s fine, sugarplum,” Jesse encouraged, his fingers trailing in Hanzo’s hair. With that reassurance, and a few steady breaths, where to start rose to the surface.

\----

Aiko was raised learning martial arts. She loved Kyudo and Judo. She loved to run outside and play in the pond. She adored her father’s large, monochrome yukata and the way he would hoist her up and tickle her. If anything, the only thing Aiko disliked was when her mother would put her hair up. It took too long, and she had to sit so  _ still _ .

But time and time again, the rambunctious heir was tamed. Taught. Lessons and values passed down not just by tutors and her parents, but the elders and then the actions of the clan.

At seven years old, she witnessed her first public beating. Genji was four then, energetic and taking all their mother's attention. It was so pathetically easy for Aiko to sneak away, to slip through her mother's grasp. Whatever was happening outside was very important and also forbidden. The forbidden part made it extremely intriguing. Aiko had sat in business meetings, had met their trade partners, had done so many things that made her feel like an  _ adult _ , but this was denied.

Through the halls, she slipped, finally winding up at the main garden. It was filled with the heavy branches of ancient Sakura trees and lined with smooth stones. A pagoda sat in the center, and around it, shoulder to shoulder were her brothers and sisters. Pouting, Aiko moved into the temple, climbing the various floors until she was near an open window, where she could peek inside.

There, on his knees, was her favorite  _ aniki _ , Ren. The one who told her stories and gave her sweets. His back was decorated in an ornate tattoo, the design her favorite - purples and dark blue, reflecting fish and geometric patterns that he let her trace and color on. Looking at him stilled her heart, confusion making her brow furrow.

His arms were bound behind his back, her father in front of him. She could hear his booming voice. It never sounded like that, like thunder on the verge of descending, rumbling in the heavens. It only ever sounded like the hollow donk-donk sound of the shishi-odoshi. But now it scared her, as did the way her other brothers and sisters were silent.

“We will not stand for this! This is a perversion of nature.” Her father shifted, coming to stand behind Ren. Only then could the wooden sword be seen; bokken, like she used in Aikido. “Lying with a man, loving a man. This, this is  _ wrong _ .”

Wrong? But her mother loved her father. Aiko was sure of this. Her lip wobbled, confusion turning to horror as the wooden sword was raised over Sojiro’s head. Everything in her body ached to scream at Ren to run, to hide, to try and defend himself, but she was struck mute.

“For this, you will be punished.”

Her scream was muffled by the cheer of the watching brothers and sisters as the sword slammed into his back. Hot tears poured down Aiko’s face as she scrambled away, running as fast as she could back to her room.

\---

“They said he went to a different compound. I learned later he died of blunt force trauma. They attributed this to a car accident.” 

Jesse hadn’t spoken a word as Hanzo spoke, a blessing really. If anything had kept the words from tumbling out, they most likely would have stopped altogether. 

“You get in trouble?”

“From my mother, yes. My father made me attend more public trials like that. He wanted me to become desensitized.”

\---

Life continued, pleasant but tiring. More lessons, more control, more brutal beatings. At least Aiko retained freedom, allowed to do and play at her will with Genji. Everything was fine.

Until she turned thirteen.

It was as if a flip had been switched and the attitude of everyone around her became so radically different. Akido and Judo were stopped. She was forced to take lessons on things she couldn't care less about - ikebana, chanoyu, and playing violin and piano. There was also etiquette to be learned that her father had postponed to the chagrin of all her teachers. The nights Aiko spent in pain from being slapped with a ruler or shinai were too many to count.

The conversation around her changed too. A focus on being more ladylike. On being more presentable. On being more of something the young heir was rapidly realizing she was not. Nothing fit right, her clothes revealing a form that did not sit in her mind correctly. Her voice becoming higher, not lower. The separation from others. Slowly, freedom was whittled away until Aiko was left with nothing. Nothing that had made her  _ her _ was left. 

Yet Genji retained his freedom, gaining more and more. He was praised for being rambunctious, for roughhousing and wrestling. Aiko warned him of the horrors to come, of the how the world would change when he turned thirteen.

But it didn’t. It got better for Genji. More Freedom. More friends. More everything he wanted.

Aiko was sixteen then, and the world had gotten even worse.

It was no longer a little feeling in the back of her head that something was fundamentally  _ wrong _ with her form. It was a screaming, angry cry. It was looking in the mirror and not seeing an inch of hair on her face. It was in the bath, looking at the swelling on her chest and wishing it was gone. It was sitting still while her life was plotted out minute by minute, to become a  _ wife _ . To bear  _ children _ . 

The only freedom afforded her was the internet and the information it held inside. Certainly, any earthly delight that the young heir could ask for would be given to her post haste. Money was no problem. As long as it could be kept quiet, and did not involve her straying far from home, it would be granted to Aiko.

But the internet granted her the things she needed. Anonymity. The chance to explore, to grow. 

To find answers. Answers to questions that popped up like weeds. No matter how hard she tried to meditate, to pray, to dive head first into the role given at birth, nothing could calm the voice inside that said it was all  _ wrong wrong wrong. _ Not the happiness of praise. Not the joy of winning a competition. Not even the silent delight at slighting someone socially. Nothing soothed that voice. It only grew louder.

And then one day, she understood why. Why, when on forum boards she said she was male. Why that made her feel so much more comfortable and happy. Why the voice in her head just got louder and louder.

Seventeen and Aiko understood herself. No. Himself. For what felt like the first time in years, he broke down into tears, sobbing freely.

\---

“Genji helped me pick my name.” Hanzo’s voice had softened, just a bare whisper now. McCree was closer, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. It felt so good and grounding that there was no way to stop his head from leaning into Jesse’s chest. “Hanzo. It’s so uncommon, but the story of a Hattori Hanzo who was strong and a good strategist sealed the deal.”

Jesse hummed, his thick fingers tangling in Hanzo’s hair as they combed gently through it. It had fallen from a ponytail so long ago, left now to flutter freely around his face. “If your family hated homosexuality that much then…”

Sighing, the archer nodded and closed his eyes, “They hated those who were trans even more.”

\---

It was his own fault for trusting someone other than Genji. His bodyguard had grown with him from a young age, a distant cousin from a different branch of the family. Chiyako. She was talented and understanding, denouncing behind closed doors how they treated those with same-gender attractions. She was also the one that Hanzo experimented with the most, quickly learning his preference was men and not women.

They fostered such a deep understanding of one another it seemed natural that, eventually, he told her the truth about himself. She listened, so understanding and sweet, even going so far as to offer to smuggle him in things that he could keep in his room. A packer. A binder. Things that made him feel  _ good _ about himself.

But it came to an end, as all things did, with no warning.

Hanzo approached the meeting room he had been called to, unaware of what lay in wait.

His father, mother, brother, and her.

One medium sized oak table took up the lion’s share of the room, western style chairs flanking each side. On one side of the table sat Genji, near the head, and his mother, near the bottom of the table. Behind them, a row of shoji-style screens showed an inner garden, idealistic and pristine. All fake, of course, but the atmosphere helped to soothe many board meetings. Near the head of the table stood Chiyako and his father, Sojiro. Behind them on the wall was a framed Katana. Each room had them, the sheath decorated in the clan symbol. There was usually a story or something of importance to each one - a decoration to show force.

As soon as Hanzo entered he slipped on his Aiko mask, looking first to his mother to sit beside her. It was then, he realized, she was not looking at him. With a flick of his eyes, he saw Genji staring at him with wide-eyed horror. Time seemed to slow, his chest squeezing tight.

His father stood at the end of the meeting room, far from the door. Beside him stood Chiyako, her hands folded over the front of her kimono. 

“What is going on?”

“Chiyako has told us an interesting story. She says that our beautiful daughter claims to be a man.” It was only years of training that kept Hanzo from betraying himself. Instead, he arched a brow at his father’s calm words, urging him to continue. He did not.

Sighing, Hanzo shook his head, “I do not know where she got this idea fro --”

Angled as the table was, from where Hanzo stepped in, it was impossible for him to see the box. In one swift motion, Sojiro picked it up and upended the contents onto it: The packer, the binder, the masculine clothing, and the magazines. All of it laid bare for the family to see. Hanzo’s heart leapt into his throat as he struggled to continue, to speak past it.

“Father this is… I…”

“Silence!” It wasn’t the first time he had used his thunderous voice towards Genji or himself. The same Hanzo had heard all those years ago when Ren had been beaten to death. It was the first time it struck true fear into him, Hanzo’s hands shaking at his side.

“I raised you to be a perfect woman. I raised you to be an asset to the Shimada clan. I raised you to be my  _ daughter _ , not this disgusting mockery.” Sojiro approached, but Hanzo stood still, waiting, not knowing what was coming. Like the samurai he took his name from, he accepted that the truth of himself would lead to death. That nothing good could come from the understanding of who he was and the indulgence of it.

He was dead the moment Hanzo was born.

The slap across his face made him gasp, teeth gritting to keep himself together. “You would lie to those you married as a man. You would lie to your peers. You would lie to your ancestors. You are not a man.” Sojiro bent and jerked Hanzo’s chin to face him, forcing his son to stare at him, “You will  _ never _ be a man. I am ashamed of you, Aiko.”

Sojiro turned and walked away, heading back towards the end of the table. He did not stop, instead approaching the framed swords. With dawning horror, Hanzo understood what was happening. His heart raced and his face went pale, but he did not run.

The sound of the metal blade leaving the sheath sent a shudder of fear down his spine. Hanzo closed his eyes, stood straighter. He could not run. He would not run. At least, in death, he would be free. He could be Hanzo fully, not just in mind, but body too.

“Who knows of your perversion, Aiko?”

“Only Chiyako.” His voice was small and delicate and did not fit him. He hated it, and that hatred had led him to this moment.

Heavy footsteps ended before him. The room remained silent except for soft sniffling sounds from the far right. Hanzo opened his eyes and looked, expecting his mother, but finding her eyes dry and her lips pressed thin. It was Genji, shaking and looking as if he wanted to do or say anything to stop what was going to happen.

“You have lost your honor.” Gravely, Sojiro pronounced the verdict, “Death brings honor and with honor comes redemption.”

Hanzo expected the thrust of the blade then. Instead, Sojiro set it on the table beside him. “I cannot have you sully my name further with your death. It would look bad in the eyes of the other clans. It would make the Shimada weak.” 

Walking back to the front of the table, he stood once more beside Chiyako. Hanzo didn’t understand what was happening, looking bewildered between the blade and his father. “I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“Redeem yourself in my eyes and the eyes of the dragon.” Sojiro’s hand snaked behind Chiyako, grabbing her hair and yanking it back. The maid gasped and squirmed, trying to pull away from the hold. “Do it, now!”

“No, no! Aiko, please, don’t. I-I had to tell them! Please!” Chiyako was sobbing, clawing at the firm hand holding her there, “Please, Hanzo! Please!”

A cold distant feeling swept over Hanzo. He reached for the blade, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.

\---

“She was not the first one I killed. Not even the first family member. She was, however, the first one I killed that I loved. Genji… Genji never forgave me after that. We grew distant.”

Somewhere between confessing the scene and the ending, the brutal bloody finale, Jesse had pulled him halfway into his lap. He leaned a heavy head onto the cowboy’s shoulder, taking solace in his warmth and weight. “Jesus fucking Christ… No wonder…”

“I thought the world was like that. That the internet had fed me lies. I feared… I feared telling anyone because they would despise me. They would find me a disgusting monster.”

Silence fell between them, Hanzo reliving the years between that moment and the finale of his time in the clan, of cutting down Genji and fleeing underground. Soft lips on his forehead broke his melancholy memories.

Jerking, he looked to Jesse, who looked pained. Pity. Hanzo hated it and avoided Jesse’s gaze. Pity had always been the worst thing to give, such a useless weak emotion. Of course, on the cowboy, it hurt even worse. “I can’t take away that past, that pain.”

“I did not ask you to, Jesse,” Hanzo bit out.

“But I can tell you, knowing this doesn’t change a damn thing about who you are.”

Could that be true? Chiyako’s betrayal had set up a lifetime of trust issues and doubt. Hanzo couldn’t help but worry that this was all an elaborate ploy. What if… What if McCree was pretending while they were on the mission, but once it ended, everything would come crashing down?

“So the clan never figured it out?”

“Not until years later.”

\---

Aiko sat at the head of the table, her eyes dulled and jaw set. The elders surrounded each side, watching her face. Even a minute twitch or look would betray her. “I do not know what you mean.”

“We have long suspected, Shimada-sama.” Elder Sato spoke, their voice soft and aged. He did not make direct eye contact, instead staring at Aiko’s collarbone. “It was your father who refused to accept that he had two sons and not a daughter and a son.”

“Your lies are disgusting.”

“He told me about forcing you to kill Chiyako.” A voice from the right. Tanaka, who had been Sojiro’s second in the clan and closest friend. “He told me everything, Hanzo.”

Hanzo. The name sat awkwardly on the Aiko mask. It felt unwieldy. She clenched her teeth and snorted at the accusation. “Chiyako attempted to kill me in my sleep. It was self-defense.”

“Hanzo, you do not have to hide any longer. The clan has wanted to progress into the modern era for many years. Your father kept us from doing so.” Elder Sato spoke again. Aiko’s lip twitched, her eyes flicking to stare directly at the old man.

“You,” Aiko spoke gravely, “have no proof.”

“Genji,” Tanaka sounded so worn down and broken, so tired, “Genji told us everything, Aiko. He is upset you have not left the clan. He assumed that we would kill you if we knew.”

Genji. They had grown so distant, but would he…? Would he really betray Hanzo like that? They were still brothers, were they not? Or was Genji power hungry and bothered that Aiko had not taken a husband so he could step up and run the clan? But Genji did not seem to  _ want _ to run the clan, using every excuse in the book to distance himself from his duties.

Aiko stood stock still, eyes flitting back and forth as she processed the information. A deluge of voices came now.

“Hanzo it is all right, we have always suspected…”

“We believe you are the proper heir of the clan. There is no reason for another to run our affairs.”

“It has always been our belief that you should be allowed to live as you needed.”

“Silence!” Aiko’s voice broke, the mask crumbling. Years of solid work to get it perfect, and they had found the one crack in it. Genji.

It was always Genji.

“The only issue with coming out as Hanzo to the rest of the clans is the perceived notion that you would be weaker than another male leader.” Tanaka’s voice was grave. Yes. Hanzo knew this would come, the backwards logic of strength and masculinity that soaked through the fabric of their lives. “But, if you were to bring Genji into line, then it would show your strength.”

“Bring… Bring in to line how?” Hanzo looked to Tanaka.

“In the same way Chiyako was brought into line, Shimada-sama.”

\---

“Fuck.” It was ineloquent, but Hanzo agreed wholeheartedly to the statement. Jesse looked pale, his jaw set. “Motherfuckers tricked ya… Knew where ya would be weakest and manipulated you into killin’ him.”

“Yes. I only realized after I was done. Two assassins rushed me. I killed them and then I… Then I fled.”

Hanzo fell silent. He was fully on McCree’s lap now, head on his chest. Jesse was stretched out on the loveseat, holding him close. “I fled then. Hid for a full year and then started to take odd jobs as a mercenary. Eventually, I had enough money for my top surgery and a testosterone pump to be inserted. The pump was much more costly, but I could not handle the needles in precarious situations. This way, it would regulate itself.”

Jesse hummed and stroked Hanzo’s back up and down. It felt relieving, but nerve-wracking, to tell someone all this. Only Genji knew, and even if his brother hadn’t betrayed him in the end, the paranoia of the first betrayal was there. 

“I can tell what yer thinkin’, Hanzo.”

“And what is that, gunslinger?”

“Can I trust him?” Jesse’s words were a bullseye, striking Hanzo and forcing him to become still and stiff. “I mean, this is somethin’ different than trustin’ a fellow to protect yer back on the field. Or trustin’ someone during a mission.”

“Astute as always. You never cease to surprise me, Jesse.” Hanzo looked up, noting how the other was watching him closely. 

Quietly, as if the words could break Hanzo, Jesse spoke, “You can trust me. Ain’t gonna betray you like that. You’re still Hanzo t’me.”

Briefly, McCree’s warm brown eyes dropped to his lips. The memory of the desperate kiss that stopped the panic attack flared up, heating Hanzo’s cheeks. Shifting, Hanzo leaned forward. Below him, the cowboy’s breath hitched. Heat blossomed in him, an aching longing starting up from the tips of his toes. 

“Is that the truth, Jesse?”

“I’d never lie to you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo wanted to taste, to touch, to feel the chapped lips against his own and know the way their beards would brush together. He wanted that burn on his skin, wanted those strong arms to hold him tight as they tasted and delighted in something so teenage as making out.

The door to the room slammed open, startling both men. Hanzo jerked, attempting to get away, but solid arms around his waist kept him close.

“Oh!” A giggly, very drunk female voice gasped, “I’m sorry! This isn’t the restroom. We’ll let you get back to it.” Someone outside the door giggled as well before it was closed, leaving Jesse and Hanzo in the too sudden quiet of the room. Muffled sounds of the party came back into their world now, including the distant and growing laughter of the two partygoers.

“We… We should get up and perhaps…” Hanzo stuttered out. Taking a deep breath, he spoke with a much more even, controlled tone, “Return to the party. We need to find information.”

“Ah uhm… Yeah.” The cowboy nodded and slowly pulled away from his arms, allowing Hanzo to sit up and scoot off of McCree’s body. They separated then, and the loss of contact from Jesse made Hanzo frown. It was oddly comforting, warming and giving him that grounding he needed to tell the truth.

For now, it was time to return to the mission.


	11. Misery Loves Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: coercion, violence, animal death

A heavy cloak of tiredness weighed on Jesse’s shoulders as he shuffled out of the room. Socializing was hard enough, but calming Hanzo had taken something out of him. Besides, there was a lot of information to chew on now. Not that it changed his opinion of the archer on a whole, but it did paint Hanzo in a new light. Gave Jesse more tools to work with. 

Instinctively, his hand wrapped around Hanzo’s hip, their steps falling into sync as they headed down the stairs and back to the first floor. Casual chatter and the soft tinkling of glasses and silverware brimmed in the space. Jesse shifted in his suit, confined and pressured by the noise and decorum. Never did fit into high society, and at his ripe age of thirty-eight, he wasn’t about to fit in now.

As soon as they stepped off the final stair and walked into the main living area where the party was mostly contained, the voices dulled. It was as if God had reached from the sky and turned down the volume knob. Jesse could feel their eyes glancing at the pair as they walked along, the soft whispers that bit at their heels each step. Surprisingly, Hanzo was holding together much better than him - every glance showed the proud man walking with his head held high and his jaw set. Even the redness of his eyes couldn’t detract from the stateliness of his presence. 

Jesse fully expected them to leave the party and retreat home, but Hanzo had other plans. A firm hand on his hip guided him towards a cluster of chatting, laughing people. Three women and two men dressed to the nines and decked in diamonds and jewels. As they approached the conversation dimmed once more, the three women doing their best to offer polite smiles while the men sized them both up with a quick glance. Every nerve, every fiber of Jesse’s being said to  _ go. _ They had overstayed their welcome and the continued play acting was going to go horribly wrong.

“Mr. Morricone!” One of the women, in an emerald green dress, smiled at him, “I was worried none of us would get to personally talk to you. You know, your work has been such a breath of fresh air. I love your stories.”

“Thank you ma’am.” He reached for a hat that wasn’t there and froze, struck by the motion. Swallowing, he lowered his arm and tried to chuckle it off. Lord, whatever Hanzo’s plan was, he sincerely hoped it didn’t involve him doing much. Jesse felt like a man lost at sea, not a scant inch of shore in any direction. 

Hanzo, blessedly, took the reins by clearing his throat, “I was wondering where Mrs. Montgomery was. We need to get going and I wished to thank her personally for checking up on us.” 

“Oh, that’s right. You poor dear.” Emerald dress patted Hanzo’s hand, her pouting pity look souring Jesse’s mood further. He kept it down, shoved and locked below the controlled persona he was using. “She’s currently talkin’ to the Mayor. I think they’re both in the den. It’s near the downstairs restrooms.”

“Of course. If you’ll excuse us.” The group hummed or muttered agreement, releasing them from the awkward conversation. A relief, given that Jesse felt he was about to explode. Another relief was Hanzo, the man made of sterner stuff than Jesse, it seemed. He maneuvered them through the crowd, walking down the hall they had entered and taking a hard left. There were two doors - one set of gorgeous french with glass panes and the other solidly built like the door upstairs. A young woman dressed in a black evening gown shot them both a look and sighed, jerking her thumb towards the door. “Been waiting for ten minutes. Ten! How long does it take to pee.”

“That’s a mighty long pee,” Jesse responded, his smile placating. That was all it took to shut down the conversation, the woman turning back to leaning on the wall. 

Without a second thought, they pressed together beside the wall, Jesse leaning over Hanzo to whisper in his ear. “How are we gonna listen in to this?” It’s not like they had a reason to loiter here for long. If they moved too close to the french doors then it would look like eavesdropping, which is what they wanted to do, but not to make it obvious. Jesse didn’t want to burn this persona so fast. If this wasn’t a solid lead, then they might have to return. Huffing, the gunslinger mulled over their options, feeling the proverbial sand of their hourglass slipping away, the time they had left to be even in the hall running low.

Hanzo, on the other hand, hadn’t responded. By the time Jesse looked back, he was startled to find two dark eyes boring into him, his lips set into a thin line. “Hanzo?”

“Tell me.” They had been close before, but Hanzo pushed forward. A hair’s breadth away, his voice was no more than a husky whisper that Jesse heard as well as drank in each shallow breath. “How good is your acting?”

This close, he could see the soft amber flecks in Hanzo’s eyes, the deep brown color that melted into a rich loamy earth. Crows feet stubbornly dug in at the corners, dashing his serious, sharp stare with some regality. He smelled of lavender and something softer, less defined and wholesome. Something Jesse could fall into and stay for a long while. And Lord, the hot breath on his face, so achingly close. It took every inch of control to not look at those plush lips, to trace the perfect cupid's bow and be snared by their barbed word arrows. Swallowing thickly, Jesse glanced to the side and hoped half of his thoughts hadn’t been transmitted through his gaze, “Well sugar, you tell me.”

After all, they had been acting like an engaged couple now for days. He’d been acting like he wasn’t over the moon smitten with Hanzo for much longer than that, even. If he’d managed to fool Marston and Abby, chances were his ‘acting’ was becoming a lot less about trying and a lot more fantasizing. Pretending that this, this right here - Hanzo’s back against a wall as his indecipherable eyes search his face, with Jesse’s body blocking out the world and noise of the crowd - was reality. That he could have Mr. Shimada this close any old day. Must’ve took some chops, he assumed.

“Well,” Hanzo’s lips curled at the end, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes, “it will do then.”

“What’re you talkin’ ---”

Whatever he was about to say was sealed by a pair of firm lips on his own. Reality floated away from Jesse, his body not reacting as Hanzo snaked two strong, muscular arms around his back. Heat flushed from his cheeks to the tops of his ears and slowly, Jesse’s eyes fluttered shut. Without a single regret, he gave himself into the joy of feeling, of tasting, of taking.

He chased the heat of lips, punctuating each separation with a breathless sigh of longing. Sure, they had kissed a few times in public now, and the one time upstairs when McCree had panicked, but this was decidedly something different. The awkward unsurety of it dropped, forgotten in the sands of time as they delved deeper. A slow lick on his lower lip got Jesse to gasp, giving Hanzo the access he needed.

Not for the first time, the thought ‘ _ What am I going to do when this is all over?’ _ floated through his mind. But it was pressed down, pushed to the side in favor of tangling their tongues; of letting Hanzo steal his breath away kiss after kiss until Jesse was dizzy and holding onto his partner. There was no question who was in charge - Not when Hanzo was pushing a knee between his leg and rolling them against the wall. Lord, here they were making out at an upscale dinner party, in the bathroom hallway. Like two horny teenagers.

Jesse could not give less of a fuck.

Hanzo pulled back and Jesse tried to lean forward, to catch the sun again, to savor the feel and taste of his lips. Oh, that wicked grin burnt him up something fierce, his stomach twisting and clenching. Hanzo nosed his cheek, whispering something soft and husky in Japanese to him. A promise, maybe. Or maybe just callin’ him a fool. Swallowing thickly, Jesse closed his eyes and caught his breath.

“Of course I understan -- Oh!” The doorway beside them (when had they gotten so close to the french doors?) opened and Mrs. Montgomery’s voice stumbled to a halt. “Goodness, I…”

“My apologies for earlier…” Hanzo peeled back and all Jesse could do was watch, too blissed out of his mind from the kissing to really get it together at the moment. But look at that, other than a little sheepish grin and kiss-swollen lips Hanzo was totally fine.  _ Lucky bastard. _ “I had a bit much to drink. We both did. I wanted to thank you for the invite to the party.”

“Yes, yes of course.” A man walked around their host, heading down the hallway. Jesse watched him go, noting his stuffy limp walk. He also noted that the young woman waiting for the restroom was flushed dark red and decidedly not looking at Hanzo and himself.  _ So much for not burnin’ this persona. _

“Jesse?” Blinking, he looked back at the two. Hanzo had a closed off professional smile while Mrs. Montgomery just looked confused, “Does that sound fine with you?”

“Of course, sugar. Whatever you think.” He flashed them both a warm smile, hoping that whatever he agreed with was the right thing. Hanzo turned and nodded.

“Perfect!” Clapping her hands, their host nodded once, “Be seein’ you boys in a few hours. I must get goin’.”

Before Jesse could open his fool mouth and ask what he had gotten them into, Hanzo took a hold of his elbow and led him down the hall. They stumbled between people and finally out into the cool, damp night air.

Thick clouds blotted any starlight out, but given the brightness of all the lighting around them, the stars were probably impossible to see anyway. Those clouds promised more than a lack of stars - the dampness of it all sent a shiver down Jesse’s spine, a few puddles clumped on the ground here and there. Had they been so wrapped up in one another that a rain shower had come and past without their noticing? Their steps splashed in the thin wells of water, the cobblestone streets of the ‘historic’ and ‘lakeside’ road and sidewalks doing nothing to help keep it dry.

“You mind tellin’ me what I agreed to?” Jesse asked finally as they began to walk towards their hotel room. The lights and signs turned off were occurring in far greater numbers, the darkness breathing a sigh of relief and occupying more and more space. 

Hanzo didn’t reply, not right away at least. He stopped them on the sidewalk, letting them hear the chatter and buzz of electricity and conversation flow through the world around them. “Did you hear anything or were you too busy counting my molars?” Anger bristled in Jesse at the question but was kept in check by Hanzo’s teasing smile. “I take it too busy.”

“I was actin’.”

“Mmm, yes you really  _ get into _ your roles, don’t you?” Fuck, Hanzo had a smart mouth and it made Jesse flush in embarrassment. He ducked his head and wished he was wearing his hat. “Well, I was listening. The Mayor is the one with access to the phone lines.”

Jesse’s head snapped up so fast he swore he heard his teeth click. “Say what now?”

Nodding, Hanzo guided them back to walking, his pace a little more urgent. “Indeed. He was trying to proposition Mrs. Montgomery for sex. Said she could use his phone if she agreed to sleep with him.”

“Rotten sonnovabitch.” 

“But it is a lead,” Hanzo was quick to point out and sure as shit, it was. “He told her to come to City Hall when she was ready. If this line is from the government, it is likely in his office.”

Jesse rubbed his jaw, scratching at his beard, “I mean, that’s great, but what did I agree to?”

“Ah, we will be joining Mrs. Montgomery and a few others, the Mayor included, for dinner in two hours.” Hanzo came to a stop outside their hotel door, “Which gives us a little over an hour to break into his office and use the phone.”

“Well shit, Hanzo.” A brilliant grin spread across Jesse’s face. He gathered his partner in his arms and gave him a tight hug, “Best damn news we got all day! Thanks, sugar.”

Chuckling, Hanzo patted Jesse’s chest, “Of course. Now… We have to get changed and ready for dinner.”

"Now correct me if I'm wrong," Jesse followed along, lead by Hanzo to their room. It was nice to be back in the room, feeling more comfortable in a place that was within their control. "But changing into evening wear isn't gonna be the best for a break in."

Hanzo's chuckle burned something in Jesse, the sound rolling over and down his spine in a shudder. "Who, Mr. Morricone, said we were going to break and enter?" Glancing over his shoulder, Hanzo shrugged limply and made a motion to Jesse. "Sometimes the best method is not the covert, but the overt. You will see."

They changed in relative silence, Hanzo taking the bathroom while Jesse used the bedroom. He slipped into a new waistcoat and tie, reapplied the gel in his hair, and made sure he was presentable in general. Glancing in the mirror, he frowned at the lack of his hat. Surely it’d be all right for dinner. Plopping it back on his head was like coming home. Relief, intense and restorative, rushed through him. Checking that it was indeed fine, and deciding it was, he gave himself a grin in the mirror. 

"Admiring yourself, gunslinger?" Hanzo's teasing forced Jesse to turn from the mirror. Not much had changed for his partner, except that now his hair hung down around his shoulders, the locks brushed and silky smooth. A little hair care did a lot for a fella, and for Hanzo it made someone with dashing good looks bloom into gorgeous definition. Jesse's fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to stroke his head. 

Chuckling, Jesse gave a one-shouldered shrug and bowed partially, waving a hand in front of him to Hanzo, "Makin' sure yours truly was good enough to stand by your side is all."

The devious, warm smile did things to Jesse, warm things that fluttered his core and sang in his veins. "There's no need to worry," Hanzo stepped forward and patted his cheek with his hand, "I look good enough for the both of us." And then, like the cocky bastard he was, Hanzo just swished on by, heading for the door.

Jesse's heart thudded heavily against his ribs, dizzy from the jest. Straightening himself out, he laughed and shook his head, "Well, that's 'bout the God's honest truth."

Their walk from the hotel was done in companionable silence. The world could have been filled with gunfire and explosions, but all Jesse could hear was the soft tapping on Hanzo's feet or the swish of his silk Hakama.

City Hall, their destination, was hard to miss - it sat front and center of Blackwater's high-class district. Untouched by time, it looked identical to the building that had adorned the same spot in the 20th century. Conservation efforts and restoration movements had kept it mostly the same, while around it on all sides were modern buildings and skyscrapers. It looked like a dusty tome, regal as it might be, lost in a sea of shiny metal bound books. It didn't fit and Jesse found himself unsure about its merit. 

Through the front door, they found themselves in the lobby. Lush chairs and sofas sat in open-ended circles, close enough for a conversation, but distant enough to facilitate some privacy if that is what one wished. A large desk dominated the center, sitting between two large staircases on both sides. Hallways jutted to the left and right as well.

At the desk, a friendly looking omnic waved. The first, Jesse realized with a start, since their trip to the south. Hanzo's stiff frame must have belied his own surprise.

"Welcome to City Hall. Most visiting hours are closed. How may I help you?"

Hanzo approached his demeanor quickly resetting to refined and dignified. Jesse followed along, though he settled a hand on the small of Hanzo's back. The skin warmed silk felt like heaven, his rough calluses doing a disservice to the fine fabric, catching the delicately woven threads. Swallowing thickly, Jesse had to almost physically repulse the thought of undressing Hanzo - of slipping his form from the silk and drinking every inch of skin in that he could.

"Hello. My name is Shimada Hanzo. This is my companion, Joel Morricone." The omnic's eyebrows rose, it almost seeming to sit up straighter at the knowledge. "The Mayor has authorized Mr. Morricone use of his telephone."

The omnic remained quiet and then hummed, "I apologize, but there is nothing in my data that says this."

"It is a recent event. Perhaps you could call him and check?" Jesse wasn't entirely sure what game Hanzo was playing, but he could join in. Hanzo hummed in approval, giving a small nod at the statement.

"I see let me check..." At first Jesse had thought the omnic's slow trailing off had been intentional. That was, until it began to twitch and jerk. Its body seemed disjointed, head jerking to one side as it's arms making quick, chopping motion across its body while its hands flexed opened and closed without reason. Everything happened so quick and then - it snapped to normal, "I see. Let me check for you. Check. CHecking. Ch e ck. Ch. Ch. Ch. Ch. Checks. Checking Account. Cheeeeeeck." As the omnic spoke, its voice distorted, electrical pops and clicks erupting in its voice.

All in a span of a minute.

Jesse's arm wrapped firmly around Hanzo's shoulder. He pulled the archer back from the desk, tucking him to his chest protectively. His right hand hovered over the butt of his gun, adrenaline pumping into his veins.

"What," Hanzo whispered harshly, eyes wide as he watched the omnic enter another spazztic fit, "is happening to it?"

By the time Jesse was born, the God AI had taken over most omnics and omniums, leaving countries torn and ravaged. He wasn't there to watch the slow crawl of the virus, how it embedded in innocuous places like phones and watches, and then jumped to omnics in remote areas, spreading like a wildfire. It was a plague on a grand scale, virtually controlling every old omnic or AI sentient machine, as well as any new one, for the years of the first and second war.

He wasn’t around to see it happen, but he knew and loved folks who did. There were always stories about how the virus looked. Some said you couldn’t tell, that it just was there one day. Like a light switch had been flipped. That was the most reported and accepted source - the narrative driven by governments and post-crisis factories.

But there were old timers in Jesse’s life, who would watch the movements and voices of those few omnics that came to the south for whatever reason. Most young kids called them racists or bigots, hating for no reason.  _ Now, they won’t tell ya, but when The Bug comes, they get all twitchy. Get weird like. Body jerks and their voice glitches. Like somethin’ possessed ‘em. _ And in reality, they were possessed. 

Abruptly, the omnic’s movements stopped. Jesse and Hanzo held their breath, the gunslinger’s knuckles white around the hilt of the pistol.

When the first omnics came out, they moved stiff and perfectly. Their movements were flawless, and it unnerved the public. The second models included code for small variances - human error like overreaching or underreaching. Twitches or slightly shorter or longer steps when walking. Just small things that tricked the human eye and made the omnics more ‘human’. It ceased being totally perfect and unnerving.

So when the omnic jolted upright and stood, it did so with a stiff exacting move that made every single one of Jesse’s nerves scream. 

It managed to get a single foot onto the desk before the revolver’s blast resonated in the room. A perfect hole sparked in the center of the omnic’s head. It twitched once, twice, and then fell to the side with a heavy clatter. Both Hanzo and Jesse jumped.

“Jesse,” Hanzo hissed, eyes wide and white with fear, “What the  _ hell _ was that?”

“The Bug.” Never in a million years would Jesse believe the old racist coots of his childhood, the ones they all laughed at, would save his hide. “Fuckin’ hell Hanzo we gotta--”

The shrill siren that rent the air made both men jerk as if struck. A look of pain crossed Hanzo’s face before he settled it. Grabbing Jesse’s arm, Hanzo pulled him outside.

Distantly, the sound of screams and the metallic popping of gunfire cut through the siren’s wail. 

“We gotta get your bow!” Shouting above the siren, he watched as Hanzo nodded. Together they ran, hand in hand, down the alleys and sidewalks. The noise of gunfire and the distinct rumbling thump of large machinery shook the ground. 

“Please,” Hanzo begged, “tell me that is the US military.”

“Might be, darlin’.” Jesse grimaced as they burst onto a large open thoroughfare. At the very far end, almost obscured by the haze of lights and the darkness, something large wavered. Something in the lake. Jesse shuddered and grit his teeth, “But I think it’s somethin’ worse.”

“No…” They knew it was a possibility - they were here to look into the reports of rogue omnic activity after all. But a full-blown omnic event, where sludgy bastions, OR15s and who knew what else climbed out of a God-forsaken black lake and threatened their lives? That was a bit out of the mission scope.

Coming to his senses, Jesse pulled Hanzo along, running faster now back to the hotel.

Bursting through the doors, they ran to their room. Inside, Jesse began to grab the things he’d need to fight.

“What are you doing?” Hanzo demanded, exasperation coloring his tone and warping it into something ugly and angry. “We need to leave.”

Jesse scoffed, his eyes narrowing at Hanzo, “Hanzo, ain’t a damn way I’m leavin’ the town to defend itself from this.”

“The military is nearby! They can take care of it.” 

Stopping in his tracks, Jesse shook his head slowly, “Hanzo, the military is just as likely to level the whole damn city to keep this under wraps than t’come in and protect the civilians.” Each syllable was delivered with anguish. The truth of those words hung heavy in the silence that swam between them. 

Slowly, Hanzo nodded and grabbed his weapon and prepared for battle. “You are right. We are Overwatch. It is our duty to help those in need.”

“Darn tootin’.” Jesse’s laugh was forced, but sometimes pretending was all he could do. Hanzo’s smile was just as forced, but it still eased something in Jesse’s heart. “And besides, why don’t we see who can take down the most of these fuckers.”

Scoffing, Hanzo slung the quiver over his shoulder, adjusting his hair in the signature golden ribbon. “Jesse McCree, are you suggesting we take an emergency and change it into a shooting match?”

Shit. Jesse bit his tongue as a flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks. ‘Course he had to go and say somethin’ stupid. It was just his nature to try and lighten things, even in jest.

“You, Mr. McCree, have a deal.” Jesse jerked as if surprised, staring at a smiling Hanzo. Even as the world fell apart, he felt good seeing that smile on his partner’s lips. He could hold onto it for the rest of his life.

They fell into rhythm, like two cogs in a bloody clock, knowing when to turn, when to duck, when to shoot, when to run. There was no time to admire his partner, only the subtle knowledge that, unlike running and gunning with any other person in his life, Jesse can rest assured that Hanzo would keep up. That if he turned his head just a little, the golden hair tie and determined stance of his partner will encompass his vision. It was nice to not have to worry about this one thing, to know his six was covered because the lines of enemies weren’t stopping.

They kept crawling from the inky sludge, groaning and creaking like metal zombies. Jesse shuddered, knocking out six empty shells and thumbing six more in. Every kick of his revolver was solid, the muscles and ligaments in his arm and hand pushing together under the pressure. Like a hug from a loved one, except this one was death. Over and over again.

Hanzo grabbed his forearm and jerked McCree to the right, leaving the center street and ducking into an alley. A dumpster in their path was the destination, both of them tucking behind it. Jesse threw himself at the wall of the building, burying in tightly. Hanzo did the same, pressed in beside him, their quick and hurried breathing a roar in the cold, dank alley. Still, the rumbling thud of omnic feet as they marched past was even louder - an explosive sound that shook the ground around them. Hanzo pressed tighter into him, waiting for the sound of feet to draw closer to them if things went wrong.  
But they did not. Instead, the marching kept going, steady and thunder like; the screams of those fleeing growing distant. Sighing softly, he looked to his partner. Hanzo knelt now, peeking around the edge of the dumpster.

“We are in the clear.”

“Good.” Standing, McCree brushed himself off and walked past Hanzo. He could hear the archer shuffle to stand.

“Where are you going? We just lost them!” Hanzo’s harsh whisper did little to slow his step. Now, his serape getting grabbed - that did make him stumble and pay attention. Half turning, Jesse grinned and tipped an imaginary cowboy hat to Hanzo. “Now isn’t the time to play hero, cowboy.”

“Can’t just leave them folks out there to get slaughtered.” Hanzo wasn’t budging, his eyes staring straight and true into McCree, as if he could see the truth in his soul. Still, something flickered in Hanzo’s brown eyes, his brow pinching ever so slightly. Even in the dim light of the alley, Jesse could tell he had almost sealed the argument, “It’ll only take a moment. I got an ace up my sleeve.” Or more accurately, his eye.

Jesse straightened out as Hanzo released his hold. An ache throbbed from his left eye, knowing it was being summoned to battle; soon to be unleashed on the enemies. Jesse straightened his back and sighed through his nose.

His boots clicked against the cobbled road of Blackwater. Everything seemed to slow down, the very air dragging against his skin. It tingled, like the static before a thunderbolt. The heavy stench of burning oil, the sound of shuttering, rattling metal shrieking as it clanged and thundered, yelling and sobs of panic and fear - all of it brought back visceral memories of the past; of being so small and defenseless, tucked against his mother’s hip as the shelter rattled and bombs fell. Back then, he had nothing to stop the monsters, to ease the fear.

But Jesse wasn’t a little boy anymore. He had grown and changed. 

Skulls peppered the field before him, popping up like daisies in the spring. Each one a burst of color, a promise of violence. Five. Ten. They spread like a plague, uncontrolled and remorseless. Fifteen. Twenty. Buzzing and moving, the reaper tallying the marks and preparing.

Raising his gun, the cowboy grinned.

It happened all at once.

The word “Draw!” had barely passed his lips when a loud, warped voice rang out from every speaker in the vicinity.

“ _ Apagando las luces! _ ”

A flood of purple energy swept down the street, like the tide coming in. It brought with it darkness. Like a row of dominos, each house went dark as the wave spread out. Silence followed - no electric sound, no music, nothing but the startled screams of terror that were growing louder and louder. 

It flushed over McCree and every single skull disappeared with a puff of smoke. Startled, the cowboy slapped a hand over his eyes, heart racing out of control at the change of state. Nothing in this world could stop Dead eye. Not a damn thing.

Then there were the omnics. In the dark, it was obvious to see the purple sparks of energy buzzing and crackling along omnic joints. All of them were frozen in place, the grinding sound of gears or the whistle or beep of distress at each energetic pulse.

“What the hell? Hanzo?” 

A few feet away he could see purple static sparking in the air. “My legs…” Hanzo weazed. Fuck. Hanzo’s prosthetics were much more advanced than Jesse’s. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would get shut down like everything else around them.

It might not be bad, Jesse tried to reason with his pessimism. Maybe it’s good? The omnics were no longer able to cause problems. But something stony and cold settled in his stomach, reminding him to not get his hopes up.

And for good reason.

The shuffle of boots were quiet and in the dark, without night vision, McCree was nothing but a sitting duck. Two arms grabbed him, pulling him down. A knee slammed into his back and the grip he had on peacekeeper faltered. 

“Hey! Fuck -- Hanzo!”

“Jesse!”

He felt, more than heard, the loud crack against his head.

And then world went black.

 

\----

 

The sound of boots gave Hanzo the location. Already the dragons licked at his skin, energy crackling around him. An arrow from his quiver was pulled, nocked, drawn, and aimed. It launched, piercing the ground with a thud. Hanzo expected the sonar waves to come and his contacts to activate; for it to show him the prowlers in the dark as if it were high noon. Instead, he saw nothing.

For the first time in his life, Hanzo’s powers failed him completely. 

And then, before the realization can fully coalesce, the lights snapped on once more. A booming burst of light that dazzled the eyes. Blinded, he yelled, covering his face as a headache pounded against his skull. “Fuck!”

“I’d love to stay and chat but, I’m not going to.” Again the warped voice sang through the speakers, harsh and irritating. Hanzo blinked from his blindness, searching the washed-out world.

A large truck, of all things, sat dead center. Men covered in black tactical gear lined both sides, sitting in uniform rows. Lying between them, dragged and tossed like an old rag, was Jesse.

All he could do was scream Jesse’s name as the truck roared to life and peeled away. By the time the purple energy wore off his legs, it was gone.

There, lying discarded and glinting on the road, was Peacekeeper. Beside it, a few feet away almost as if an afterthought, was Jesse’s distinctive cowboy hat.

Numb and in shock, he stood and shuffled to the gun. With shaking hands, Hanzo retrieved it and held it to his chest. He did the same with the hat. Both, cradled close, like a child holding a blanket and stuffed animal.

Jesse was gone. 

And Hanzo? Hanzo had no idea where they would take him, or what he could do to stop it all.


	12. Rescue Party Reprise - P.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: animal death, blood, gore

Smoke and rain blurred the world into a distraught haze. Piercing it were the wails of the sirens and the screams of terror; both person and animal. Hanzo stumbled along, running as fast as he could. Each step splashed puddles against his skin, soaking his hakama until it stuck to him. Water, oil, and blood mixed together in a slick substance that glistened and gooped everywhere. It shimmered in the glow of flames that crackled.

Chaos had settled a heavy hand over the city. Far in the distance, Hanzo could hear the booming and crash of something. Bombs? Buildings collapsing? It all seemed plausible and yet entirely unimportant.

The truck had quickly veered out of sight, but Hanzo was determined to give it chase and followed the road it had turned down. 

"If I can get a horse then I can..."  He panted, thinking aloud. Both voice and feet stumbled to a halt

The main thoroughfare had been mixed with both car and animal, though the further towards the dark zone, the more animals there were. Here, in the middle, the mix was enough to leave Hanzo startled. The shattered bodies of horses and cars littered the road. Bones and blood, meat and carcass, wire and oil. Some horses were still alive, panting and terrified, but unable to move from broken legs or worse. Shuddering in revulsion, Hanzo turned around and retched. Burning oil and buildings and plastic mixed with tangy blood and raw sewage bile.

If fear had a scent, it was this.

And the quickest route was to go  _ through _ this damned mess. 

Every second stalling was a second Jesse drew further away, that he slipped from his grasp.

Eyes pinched shut, Hanzo hunched his shoulders, grit his teeth, and bowed his head. 

_ Tick tock, tick tock. _

Time waited for no one, including his revulsion.

_ Tick tock, tick tock. _

Panic threatened to rob Hanzo of his strength. But below the waves that threatened to crush him, there pulsed a steadier, stronger current.

One with a bushy beard, kind eyes, and a killer aim.

_ “You can trust me. Ain’t gonna betray you like that. You’re still Hanzo t’me.” _

_ “Damn darlin’ … Am I mighty glad you survived.” _

He pulled the words to himself, grounding himself in their strength, and wrapped them around his body like an armor.

Huffing, the archer rose back up, his spine straightening. Rain stuck strings of his hair to his cold, wet skin. Goosebumps rose on his flesh; a shiver running through every nerve. Icy determination flowed through Hanzo.

Sojiro's words drowned out the world. Hanzo turned, facing the hellish tableau. Streaks of fire caught the hides of fallen animal, the world painted in heavy strokes of black, gray, red, and orange. 

_ Separate yourself from what lies before you. You are above it, beyond it. _

Horses lay piled, slaughtered as they tried to run. He vaulted over a carcass, the flesh still warm and damp below his fingers. Landing with a splash, he kept moving.

_ Remember your objective. It is your biggest priority. _

"Get to the end of the street." His breath was an airy rush, streaming behind him as he ran, blending into the smoke that obscured the world like a timid veil and stung his eyes.

_ And always, Hanzo, remember-- _

He slipped, falling face first into a carcass. Groaning, Hanzo stood, soaked with unknown fluids. Cold. Pained. Everything ached.

_ The only truth in your world is to bring honor to the Shimada. _

Gritting his teeth, he climbed on hands and knees, getting over the last clump of carcass. From the other side, he stood.

Not anymore. There were many truths in Hanzo’s world, including the one he was frantically pursuing.

 

\---

 

Through the pouring rain, Hanzo returned to the hotel. His feet carried him in a drunken daze.

The lobbies warm air crept along his cold skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Dripping and trailing water like a breadcrumb trail, the archer stumbled in. Making a mess was the least of his issues at the moment. The young blonde from before, Rachael, looked up from where she was sitting and gasped. She stood swiftly and met Hanzo halfway.

"Mr. Shimada! You look like a wet cat," In normal circumstances, Hanzo would have laughed. Right now, he couldn't figure out what to feel, emotions in conflict, "Where's Mr. Morricone? Didya two get separated?"

"He is gone." The words cemented the feeling Hanzo had inside - all-encompassing dread that dragged Hanzo’s shoulders down. There was no way to give chase to assailants that knew the land better than he - Hanzo was lost, completely. There was no way for him to even hail for help. The thought, of being trapped in a strange land with no rescue, made his chest tighten.

Hands guided him to one of the seats in the front lobby, settling him down carefully. It happened like a dream, one-second breathing quickly and desperately as every possibility, good and bad, slammed down upon Hanzo, and the next he was sitting with a very concerned Rachael staring at him, her hands squeezing his shoulders.

"Breathe, Mr. Shimada! Copy me." She exaggerated each inhale and exhale, timing them to a beat Hanzo couldn't hear past the thunder of his heart in his ears. Slowly, the roar dulled, rumbling down until he could hear his own rapid, shallow panting. Closing his eyes, Hanzo focused on each breath. He could feel the silk of his clothing stick to his ribs, the chill of the rainwater working up his spine in a shudder. Slowly, surely, the world drew back in, breaking through the haze of panic and mania. 

When he opened his eyes again, Rachael looked pleased. "Thank goodness. You were so very upset. What happened out there?"

"I am... I am unsure. Jesse..."

"Who?" 

Sighing, Hanzo winced as if in pain, "Joel." Taking a moment, he recentered himself before continuing, "Joel and I were out for dinner. We were interrupted when the siren..."

The siren.

It was off.

"How long has the siren been gone for?" Ghosts of its sound wailed faintly at the edges of Hanzo's hearing, taunting him as if to say it was there, but he had fallen deaf to it.

"Just a little before you came stumbling in. But please, what happened to Joel?"

"There were omnics. We started to fight them and then there was... This blast of purple light and everything went dark. After that, when the lights came on, Joel was in a wagon leaving the area. I gave chase, but wasn't nearly fast enough."

Rachael's hands covered her mouth, eyebrows drawn down tight, "Oh my Lord... This is terrible. What do we do?"

Laughing bitterly, Hanzo leaned back into the seat of the chair and stared at the ceiling. "That is the question," he muttered darkly, feeling inadequate and exhausted. If perhaps he had reacted quicker, or done something more, none of this would have happened. Jesse would be beside him, planning the next stage of their mission.

Now wasn't the time to get caught in the what ifs. Now, he had to find Jesse McCree. It was funny that the start of their trip would begin needing rescued and now here, at the possible end, another rescue was needed.

Another rescue.

Sitting up abruptly, Hanzo looked to Rachael with feverish intensity, a fire blazing once more in his soul. "Tell me! Is there a CB radio somewhere in this city?"

"A.... A CB radio?" Worrying her lower lip, she ducked her head and shrugged a shoulder. "Only place I can guess has one would be Mr. Walsh's antique store."

"Can you lead me there?" Hanzo stood, acutely aware of the way the ambient temperature made the cold silk against his skin feel like ice. Also, the way the chair squished as he moved. It was soaked, through and through, but he would apologize for property damage later.

Standing herself, Rachael nodded quickly, "Of course."

After a quick grab of a coat and umbrella, Rachael led him away from the hotel and down the street. The mix of dark and light seemed even more potent after the pitch black scenario. The rain severely cut down their visibility, leaving the two to make slow progress. Every step felt like a trek through molasses, the time nipping at the back of Hanzo's heels.

'WALSH ANTIQUITIES' was a stately store, with two large front facing display windows and an inset door framed on either side by carved, ornate wooden pillars. Like many of the shops on this street, it blended old with new, and with its wares, it seemed especially fitting.

Inside, the scent of dust and age assaulted Hanzo, making him almost second guess entering. Row upon row of shelves was packed with odds and ends - wind up clocks, Gameboys, Sony Walkmans, table and chair sets, (add more). Between the rows, far in the back, was a long desk. An old man sat behind it, scowling at the door. 

"I thought I locked that damn door. We're closed."

"Mr. Walsh, I presume?" Hanzo asked politely.

"The one and only," groused the old man, his head tucked down as he worked on something obscured from Hanzo's sight by the lip of the desk. "Now please leave."

Rachael glanced at Hanzo, her brow pinched, before stepping forward. “Mr. Walsh, it’s a bit of an emergency. We won’t take much of your time, honest.”

Once more the old man glanced up, his deep frown forming crevices around his lips and chin. One angry, bitter mountain. “Rachael, your pa know you’re here botherin’ an old man?”

“Sir, my fiancé has been kidnapped.” Enough. If the man wasn’t going to play nice with a local, then beating around the bush was simply wasting time that Hanzo did not have.

Scoffing, Mr. Walsh leaned back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest, “And do I look like the police? No. But,” he held up one finger, “if you keep botherin’ me I’ll summon them.”

“The police will be of no help. I know who can help me, but I need a CB radio. If you have one to purchase, I will gladly buy it.” It was a slim hope, considering how red-faced the owner had become.

However, instead of shouting, the old man stood and shuffled off towards the back of the store. Hanzo glanced to his companion, noticing her bewildered look. It seemed neither of them knew what was happening. “Perhaps we should get outta here?” Rachael suggested, her voice soft.

“Leavin’ after I got this for ya?” The old coot approached with a CB unit, not unlike the one Hanzo had used in the car. Blinking in surprise, Hanzo approached the box and ran his fingers over it. “Some purple-haired gal sold it to me a few days ‘go.”

Hope had never taken a more rigid and tangible form for Hanzo. Swallowing thickly, he glanced at the owner, “How much?”

Mr. Walsh opened his mouth, but then quickly shut it, much to Hanzo’s displeasure. “Well, now…” He started, demeanor changing into something sheepish and careful, a clear departure from the gruff and angry old man that had greeted the duo, “it’s a special unit, and considerin’ I’ve been sellin’ these like hotcakes every damn day…”

“If you’ve been sellin’ ‘em like hotcakes, then why was this one shoved in the back?” Rachael countered, but her response was a tight frown and a glare.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Walsh focused again on Hanzo, “I’m thinkin’ five hundred credits.”

“Five Hundred?!” Rachael exclaimed.

Sighing through his nose, Hanzo shoved a hand into his gi. A small zippered pocket lay inside, and held within was his chip card.“Here.” Hanzo snapped the card down onto the table, making Rachael flinch. “I will buy it.”

Squinting at the card, the old man picked it up and tapped it against a transfer pad. It glowed briefly, as well as the card before it blinked green once. The transaction successful, Hanzo had the card shoved back into his hands, which he immediately tucked away. Mr. Walsh sniffed once before muttering, “Well then, she’s all yours. Nice doin’ business with you.”

Grunting, Hanzo picked up the unit and moved a few feet away to an antique Formica table. Setting the device down, he found the power cord and plugged it into the wall. Mr. Walsh, upon realizing that his customers had not left, moved swiftly to Hanzo’s side.

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

“Using this device. I have no time to wait, Mr. Walsh. I need to get this message out as soon as I can. Surely, for the absurd amount you sold this, I can have a few moments.”

“Fine,” Walsh grumbled, arms once more folded tightly across his chest. “But if ya can’t hail that friend of yours, you gotta get.”

Hanzo rushed through the motions, setting up every piece and making sure it was tuned. It seemed perfectly fine, and if Hanzo had been in a better headspace, the pristine nature of the machine might have made him suspicious.

As soon as he had it running, he turned to the emergency channel and centered himself.

"I am calling Sheriff John Marston." Hanzo waited for a breath, "Sheriff Marston, are you there?"

"You bought this old piece of shit to call a Sheriff? Thought you said the police would be no help." Mr. Walsh scoffed, surprisingly offended for someone who had just sold that 'old piece of shit' for an astronomical price.

"Please, Sheriff Marston, I need your help," he pleaded into the microphone, feeling the fragile threads of hope slipping from his fingers. 

They waited in silence, only the static filling the air. Outside, the rain continued to fall, the music of raindrops drumming against the windows filling the silence and void in Hanzo. This was the only solution. Finding a horse would be difficult, considering a mass majority had been slaughtered during the battle. Finding someone who had a horse, or buying one himself, and getting them to escort him to Armadillo was even less likely. 

The seconds rolled by, dragging reality closer and closer and closer.

Rachael's hand touched his shoulder, making him jolt. "Mr. Shimada, I don't think he's gonna come on the line. Why don't we file a police report?"

"If these people are who I think they are, then the police can do nothing to harm them!" Hanzo snapped. Dropping his head, he sucked in a shuddering breath, "A fool. I am a fool for believing the universe would let me have something as good as him. For thinking karma would let me have this happiness."

"If you're done here," Mr. Walsh's airy voice stung his ears, "I'd like ya to leave my store."

"Now see here you old jerk!" Distantly he heard the fight, Rachael yelling at the store owner. It just didn't matter. Hanzo had failed someone he loved again, and the guilt and agony of it were destroying him.

Softly, barely heard from under the blanket of yelling and rain, a voice spoke.

"This is Sheriff John Marston, over."

"John, it's Hanzo. Jesse has been captured and I don't know what to do and I don't know how to get back to your ranch and there are no horses here." It broke from him in a rapid stream of words, leaving Hanzo panting and staring at the box, his deus ex machina, once more ushering in hope. When there was no response, Hanzo stuttered out, "O-Over!"

"Hanzo, tell me exactly what happened. Over."

Taking a breath, he gave a quick and succinct description of events.

"Fuckin' hell," John cursed, the sentiment shared by Hanzo. 

From behind him, he heard Mr. Walsh sniff, "That is against the FCC guidelines. That man shouldn't have access to a --"

"Fuck," Hanzo half turned, staring daggers at the old, wizened man, "the FCC."

"Where ya at, Hanzo? Over."

The question drew his attention back to the radio, Hanzo once more engrossed in talking to John. "Blackwater. Over."

"All right. Stay put. I'll round up supplies and horses. Where ya staying at? Over."

"At..." He looked over his shoulder again to Rachael.

Rachael responded, "Marymont Hotel."

He turned back to the radio, "The Marymont Hotel. Over."

"All right. I know where that is. Hanzo, get some sleep if ya can and be prepared in the morning for a long, hard day. We got a fiancé to save. Over."

Hanzo could weep with relief, his voice thick with unshed tears, "Gods bless you, John Marston. Over."

"Need more than blessin's, but I been in worse. See ya in the morning, Hanzo. Over and out."

The line went dead, and Hanzo was left with a sure-footed feeling. Things would work out. He could save Jesse. Standing, he grabbed the CB from the table and unplugged it, wrapping up cords and other bits and pieces around the radio.

"Ah, Mr. Shimodo, was it?" Mr. Walsh asked, his kindly shop keep voice back on. There was no going back to that persona once burned, however.

"Shimada," Hanzo droned in response, the words dead as they fell from his tongue.

"Right, Right." Clearing his throat, Mr. Walsh waved his hands out in front of him, his face turned into a pleasant smile, "Now, your CB there is a fine specimen, but a little rough. I'd be willing to buy it from ya for say..." Hanzo watched with barely concealed disgust as the man's lips bent into a cruel smile. "... Fifty credits?"

"Fifty? Fifty! You sold that piece of shit for five hundred!" Rachael was practically shrieking, and while he appreciated the notion, the emotions that had filled the archer up to this point were exhausting. Sighing weakly, Hanzo rubbed his forehead slowly.

"Mr. Walsh." Hanzo's soft voice was louder than the screaming match going on between the two. Lowering his hand, he fixed the old man with the coldest stare he could, the one he had donned for years as the Obayun of the Shimada-gumi. "If my partner were here, he would say 'I wouldn't sell you a cup of piss if your guts were on fire'. I am inclined to agree. Good evening, Mr. Walsh."

Hanzo turned, heading for the exit. Rachael followed moments later, leaving Mr. Walsh to stare in wide-eyed shock.

 

\---

 

Sleep did not come easy. After a shower and collecting their things, Hanzo lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew sleep was important; It would make or break their mission tomorrow. Yet every time he closed his eyes, the empty feeling returned. A hollow resonance that vibrated across his body. The bed was cold, empty and lonely. A point of pressure and contact was simply gone, spirited away from where it ought to be. 

How had Hanzo slept before Jesse's presence? Before he felt secure and warmed? Memories of lonely nights, up at insomniac hours, meandering the base flooded his mind. Certainly this mission had been exhausting, he would have to be a fool to think otherwise, but not to the point to end years upon years of bad sleep habits. No. Even at the Watchpoint, there had been nights where after a mission, when Hanzo was still nursing his own wounds, that sleep would not come. Exhaustion would blur his vision and jerk his muscles, but still, sweet slumber would hang just out of reach, teasing him.

Whatever magic the cowboy had was strong, and Hanzo suspected it was not magic at all, but relief, that let him sleep in deep peace.

And now his peace and harmony were gone.

He fell asleep fitfully, waking every now and then to see the empty half of the bed. No matter how high he pulled the duvet, the chill crept along tired bones and dug its claws in deep. Hanzo realized then, the impact his cowboy had on him. 

Dawn came with a cloud break, leaving the world a soggy, dim gray. Hanzo dressed in loose jeans and a tactical black shirt. Everything was dark for slipping into shadows, though he doubted the desert sun would give them that advantage. His quiver and Stormbow were slung over one shoulder. His hair remained down, and the black cowboy hat rested upon his head.

He carried Peacekeeper and a bandolier of bullets in a small pack, into which a first aid kit, a length of rope, a shock blanket, and one red serape was placed. Hanzo tied a knife to his belt as well as his water bottle. The final piece was Jesse’s cowboy hat, laid on top of the pack so it wouldn’t be crushed. With nothing left to prepare, Hanzo slung the bag over his other shoulder and left the room.

Downstairs, the lobby was as it was hours before - clean and friendly, with no sign of the water and pain Hanzo had trailed in. Both Rachael and her father were standing beside the desk. Upon seeing Hanzo, she waved a hand and smiled, "Mornin' Mr. Shimada. Can I get you somethin' to eat for breakfast?"

Hanzo opened his mouth to refuse, and then thought better. "Something light but protein filled. I will need the energy. And if you have any packaged food, I will take that."

"Packaged as in?" The man asked, eyebrow-raising. For the first time, Hanzo paid him much attention. "We got muffins and such."

Hanzo hummed, considering, "Rations would be the best. Military rations."

"MRE? Fine, we got a few from the government. Best t'get those things outta here. Taste like shit."

At that point Rachael returned with a plastic bowl of mixed sausage, pepper, and egg: a microwave meal. Odd how many dinners Hanzo had enjoyed just like this, but after a week of little to no electricity, the convenience food felt foreign and borderline disgusting. Beggars, however, could not be choosers and Hanzo needed the calories. He gratefully took the bowl with a small incline of his head. 

Besides getting the MRE, Hanzo was left alone in the lobby to eat his meal, and once that was finished, to meditate. There was a peace to be found there, hollow as it was, and a centering that Hanzo needed for the task that lie ahead.

The chance this was a Deadlock attack was high. The only issue was, how and why did the gang attack now? The confluence of both an omnic event and a sudden kidnapping felt too coincidental.

And then there was the strange voice, the purple light that knocked out all the power, and the siren ending. It had to be all together, but ... Didn’t Deadlock have the ability to  _ control _ omnics, and if they did not, how did this happen?

Sighing, Hanzo was saved from the string of confusing thoughts by the front doorbells. John, grim and standing tall, remained in the opening, one hand on the open door. "Ready to ride, Hanzo?"

"Yes." Turning, he gave Rachael and her father a short bow. "Thank you for your hospitality. Anything that was left in the rooms may be sold or used as you wish."

"O-of course, Mr. Shimada. I hope you find Mr. Morricone. The world will be duller without his light."

"You are," Hanzo's eyebrows furrowed together, shoulders tensing, "completely correct."

During the night, much of the carnage had been cleaned up. Still, the scent of death hung heavy in the air, a foreboding warning of the danger the two riders were heading towards.

John had brought a second horse without being asked. Raising an eyebrow, Hanzo climbed onto the saddle and followed after the cowboy, both pushing their mounts to a swift gallop.

"What if I had a horse?" Hanzo asked above the sound of thudding hooves and blowing air. They crossed further from the unnatural light and into the darker parts of the city, going towards the hill that Hanzo and Jesse had stopped upon to observe the world.

"Deadlock folks took Jesse," John responded, raspy voice cutting through the wind, "They'd be likely to kill any horse they saw. Keeps the chances their quarry won't be found."

"How do you know this so well?" Not that there was any reason to be suspicious of John, but Hanzo still remembered the fear Jesse had expressed the very first day, trapped in their car, when he knew John was coming. It would be a smart long con. Hanzo sincerely hoped he would not have to kill the Sheriff.

"Cause I ran with 'em, Hanzo. Same as Jess. We know their tactics well."

Of course. Forgetting something so basic was unlike him. Hanzo squeezed the leather of the lead and took a breath. "Tell me where we're going."

"Deadlock’s only got one place. Big complex. It'll be a bitch to infiltrate, but I'm hopin' these tools and your ninja trainin' will be enough to get us through."

"One can hope!" Hanzo missed it at first, but the word came back to hit him square in the jaw. This was the second time someone knew about the Shimada, and with John it was even bigger. They had hidden his identity from the Marstons. "How do you know about my training?"

Scoffing out a laugh, John shook his head, "Hanzo, you got a bounty just like Jesse. I'm a damn Sheriff, I got connections and intel. Might be off the board for a while, but I still know shit. Knew it from the moment you told me who ya were. Knew what ya did."

And they were fine with him, fine with who Hanzo was and what Hanzo had done. Swallowing thickly, guilt bit at Hanzo's heels, a familiar feeling. The lie he had woven for Abigail in the kitchen seemed so starkly fake. She had to know now, and the good memory of a life better than the one he had lived fell apart.

“We all do what we have to survive. Sometimes, it ain’t pretty.” John’s words snapped Hanzo from the growing fear. They rang true and tired, “I was there too, ya know. Been there a few times. Choosin’ between loyalty and morals. Ain’t ever easy. In the end, we pay the price for what we did.”

Hanzo reflected upon the words. He had no idea the price John had paid for his time in the gang, but Hanzo knew his own price was one that could not be so easily pardoned. Ten years of solitude, of searching for redemption, had led him to believe that his actions could never be truly absolved. Even if Genji adored reminding his brother that all was forgiven, it lacked the weight of consequence needed. 

“How have you paid off your price?” 

John shifted in the saddle and snapped the reins, urging his horse to speed up. Hanzo mimicked the motion. “Way I figure it, I’m payin’ it back by rounding up the rest of the gang. That, and I’m a Sheriff. I keep dangerous folk out of the world, make it a safer place.”

The question, returned, hung silent and heavy between them. Overwatch had been an excellent venue to enact a similar philosophy; After all, Hanzo could protect innocents and take down Talon. It did little to wash the blood from his hands, but the logic was poetic and tidy. Hanzo would have to thank his brother when they next met.

Maybe Genji understood his need for action over words better than previously thought. Taking in a breath, he shook away the thoughts clouding his mind.

"I am sorry to have doubted you, John."

"No apologies needed. Now let's focus on gettin' Jesse out of the hole he's in."

For miles, they rode in silence, only the music of the land and the steady drumbeat of the hooves to be their company. The beauty of it was lost on Hanzo, the jewel that had shined the brightest no longer beside him. 

Trees gave way to sage, the dismal dawn to strong, desert ripened sun. Cacti and sage found their ways along the rocks, pressing against trails that turn from loam to hard packed sand and earth. The sweltering heat became a familiar friend. Noon approached and left without much fanfare, briefly snatching the shadows before releasing them again. Yet still they rode as fast and hard as they could, knowing a minute or second delay could be the difference of life or death. Their horses were slick with sweat and panting, driven on by tired and desperate riders.

Large rock croppings appeared abruptly in the smooth landscape, like giants that had attempted to crawl from the ground but gave up halfway. Soon enough, John slowed his horse down to a gentle trot, the duo now riding side by side.

More and more and more rocks appeared, connecting and forming lumpy mesas. But it seemed that they were climbing, the world becoming more scattered with the rocks. Something felt familiar about it, about the red rock formation they were heading towards. It nagged at the back of Hanzo’s mind as they entered one side. Above them, the steep rocks funneled the open plains sky into bite-sized parcels. 

The center mesa was connected to the outside rocks by flimsy rock and plank bridges. Some had come apart, broken and hanging like a dead arm, bleaching slowly in the desert sun. Still others looked more maintained: even some of the wood had been exchanged for metal, and the rope exchange for carbon fiber cable.

Their approach was silent, not a single word said between them. Beyond the faint whistle of wind and the soft clop of horse’s hooves, the world was silent.

Both riders rounded the center mesa, funneled in towards the main section. Before Hanzo stood a great wall of rock, curved to mold around the mesa. Much like a semi-circle. The sense of deja-vu exploded, simmering into a sensation of dread, rolling over Hanzo. He remembered this place now - the omnic attack, the mad dash for safety, and then darkness as his horse was murdered.

He glanced to where the body would be and found only dirt marks where something large had been dragged, leading into one of the gaping entrances to the mines. On the red rock wall, the skull biting through the lock, floating upon angels wings, glared at the trespassers.

Deadlock territory.

On the far side away from both of them, lying on its side, was the black carriage. No sign of the horses that had carried it, but at least they had confirmation.

"This is it," Hanzo whispered to John. His response was a soft grunt. Both men climbed off their horses and prepared - Hanzo situated his quiver once more to ride in the center of his back, his slim backpack tight around his chest, and his bow resting at his side.

"What's the plan?" John's question broke Hanzo of his silent meditation. A plan was a good idea. They had all the cards stacked against them; with no intel, there was no way to know how many deadlock were inside, what their patrol patterns were, and where in the mine Jesse could be held. How big was the mine anyway?

There was also the issue of their approach. As quiet as they were, the concave shape of the base should have funneled their sound to the dead center, making them dead giveaways.

It was definitely a trap. Why? To get whoever would come after Jesse? Did they predict Marston would come to get his one-time friend? Sighing, Hanzo rubbed his face. The unanswered questions rose higher and higher and higher until they threatened to engulf him.

"I want you to stay outside and make sure no one blocks our getaway or comes in." Hanzo stated to John as he glanced to him, "Can you do this?"

Raising an eyebrow, the old cowboy shrugged, "Sure, ain't much of a job, but I can do it. You sure you can handle whatever is waiting for us?"

"I will, or I will die trying," Hanzo vowed and took a few steps forward. Studying the mouth of the mine, he gave a final command. "If I am not out in an hour, leave."

"Understood. Godspeed, Hanzo."


	13. Rescue Party Reprise - P.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence, blood, wounds, mentions of torture, implied torture, psychological torture, misgendering

The bottom opening to the mine was a yawning hole, propped open by sun-bleached wooden beams. On either side of the entrance lay helpful signs in various shades of red and black. 'STAY OUT', 'PRIVATE PROPERTY', 'NO PIGS', 'TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT'. Hanzo couldn't help but admire the artistry of the last one - red paint had been splattered after the word 'shot'. Or so he hoped it was red paint. 

Like a forked tongue, two snake like railcar tracks emerged from the darkness to the harsh light outside. One track still ended with a chest-high wooden stopper, though graffiti now layered thick upon its weathered wood. The other side was simply broken up, huge chunks of its metal rails gone.

A foot and a half of space lay between the two rails. Hanzo took this as his path, following it inside the cave. He was surprised to find that the height of the opening was not much taller than himself - perhaps a foot at best, but even that was pushing it. Rock would hem in all sides, supported only by beams that were impossible to know the age of. Caving in one of the tunnels, crushing Hanzo to death, would be fairly simple. Even leading him down the wrong branching path and sealing the entrance would do. Stepping inside was like literally walking into the open mouth of a predator, but it was the only option. It was their only lead. 

With his eyes adjusting to the cool dark of the mine, Hanzo relied heavily on his ears to alert him to trouble, but much like outside there was no sound of a living soul. If someone was there, they were either deeper in the mine or doing their best to be quiet in an attempt to ambush the rescue party.

Inside, the cool air of the mine was a relief from the sweltering sun outside. It wasn't cold by any means, but the temperature change was enough to make Hanzo shudder. Sight adjusted, Hanzo now could see the rocky walls of the tunnel pressing in on either side. 

He had expected someone or something to delineate where the mine ended and the deadlock base began - perhaps signage or a guard. But as the entrance of the mine became smaller and smaller, Hanzo was left with a new inexplicable issue - light. Like being swallowed by the forked tongued-beast, the assassin was submerged in heavy twilight and then pitch black darkness. Still, no sound of anyone further in, and no sign of any trap. 

Reaching behind himself, Hanzo pulled out a sonic arrow and aimed twenty feet in front of himself at an angle. It whistled softly before thunking heavily against the rock wall - there was not enough force behind it to pierce that. Cursing mentally, Hanzo ducked down to make himself small as the clatter of the arrow reverberated up and down the passage.

And still...

Nothing.

Swallowing thickly, he watched the sonar pulse of the arrow's head illuminate the next sixty feet of mine shaft. It continued straight, presumably past the end of the pulses too. 

He left the arrow where it lay and crept forward. The going was slow - one hand was pressed against the uneven, jagged wall of the mine, the other holding Stormbow in a white-knuckled death grip. Claustrophobia had never been an issue for him, but the tight confines and utter darkness left a deep unease in the archer that he could not shake.

It took more willpower than he would like to admit to not send out another sonic arrow. Time seemed to trickle by in drips and drabs. Without a watch and no sunlight, judging time was impossible. The distance was done in steps, each carefully placed. At any second Hanzo was prepared to throw himself backwards, should he feel a wire touch his legs. Keeping that tension up while cooling the paranoia that was gripping tighter and tighter into him was a struggle. A deep breath and a slow exhale cooled him, but also brought in the claustrophobia - the air was stagnant and old.

It was the air and his steps, their soft echo, that clued Hanzo into the fact the paths were splitting. The walls seemed to breath a sigh of relief, growing larger and holding simply ‘more’ in their confines; the echo of each step was a little louder, the noise able to travel further before hitting stone. Hanzo pulled out another sonic arrow and paused. If the echoes were carrying further, then the noise of firing the arrow and then it rebounding off a wall would surely alert whoever was lying in wait that he was here - if they did not know already. The second option was to toss it underhanded. It would still clatter, but it would not split the air and the impact and drop would be less noisy. Frowning, the archer gritted his teeth. Underhanded was the best  _ option _ , but there was no way to get a good distance with the low height of the shaft. Chances were, Hanzo would overestimate the height and end up with a suboptimal throw that caused just as much sound, but revealed less information. 

From the blue, an idea struck him. Striking the head of the sonar arrow against his thigh, he activated it. Hanzo knew the speed of his shot at full strength, as well as the seconds each pulse came. Drawing back his string, he focused and released the arrow down the shaft. In stop-motion, the cave was illuminated by bursts of pulsar. Hanzo counted each diligently until the arrow hand hit the end wall and bounced back. He ducked once more, curling in tight as the calculations played in his head.

Roughly, it was 160 meters before the split. Hanzo watched, but could not make out more than the fact the paths diverged - both rails veered to the left and an unknown path went right. The noises died down and left Hanzo with a coil of dread: Marston could be very, very wrong about the mine and they were wasting their time. Or Marston was right, Jesse was here, but it was an elaborate trap.

Or John Marston, as Jesse feared at first, was getting his revenge.

Forward was the only option. Back lead him to no answers and time was ticking. Until he had sprung this trap or satisfied his worry, he’d keep going forward.

It felt like eons until Hanzo found the split path - by kicking his discarded arrow. Cursing softly under his breath, he looked left and right, expecting that something might come clear. A light or perhaps a scent or some sort of sound. 

Nothing. 

Swallowing thickly, he bowed his head and thought.

The path to the left had the train tracks, and that seemed to be the only stable connection between the Deadlocks and their base. Ignoring it was foolhardy. Ignoring the path to the right seemed just as bad an idea.

And yet time was ticking by, Jesse slipping between his fingers. 

A familiar flame of fury and disgust warmed him, burnt his senses with their ancient power. The taste of electricity danced upon his tongue. The soft thrum of --

No.

The dragons were silent. The static was not from them, the familiar, distance draw of electricity was something totally different.

There was power here. Actual power. Wherever it was coming from would be the Deadlocks. But there lied the issue - where was it coming from? The left? Or the right? Again, Hanzo was faced with the same problem, but now with more urgency.

It was funny how in times of need or failing resolve, Sojiro's words would return to Hanzo. A path of broken glass on which is psyche walked, littered with bombs and the pain of the past. Still, it was a way, and one that now seemed crucial.

_ 'We of the Shimada commune with our dragons. Ancient beings of tremendous and volatile power. Giving thanks to our dragons is of utmost importance. They will speak to us as we speak to them'. _

The last time Hanzo had called upon the dragons outside of battle had been months before killing Genji. After that moment, they were silent, appearing only in times of battle. Angry, he assumed, that their sibling was destroyed by their wielder.

But in the dark, lost on how to proceed, they were the only answer to be found. Truly, his final option.

_ 'To commune, you must first have a clean space, pristine and purified.' _

Hanzo knelt on the dirty ground. Gravel crunched below the metal casings of his prosthetics. 

_ 'An offering must be paid.'  _ The memory of Sojiro slowly drew out an ornate plate of treats - yuzu, mochi, and thin cuts of raw fish. 

From his head, Hanzo removed the cowboy hat and set it down in front of him. It was the only valuable thing on his person that was not a weapon. It was more precious than he had thought, the very act of placing it upon the dirty floor was positively painful.

_ 'Finally, a prayer. Thank them for their help. Then, you meditate. It is within that meditation they will speak to you.' _

Hands pressed palms together, Hanzo stared blankly into the void. What could he possibly thank them for? Battles were, of course, won by the dragon’s intervention. The bounty on Marj had been grabbed by their threatening presence. The omnic cowboys were stopped by their intervention. But offering thanks for those felt hollow and cheap. As important and life saving as they were, they lacked impact. 

Closing his eyes, Hanzo tried to control his breathing and focus inwards. Despite the anxiety and the pressure of time, meditation came swiftly thanks to years of practice and muscle memory. But he could not fully keep his mind cleared.

A certain cowboy came to mind again and again. Jesse with amber eyes and sun-kissed smiles; Jesse racing along the beaten paths of the range, whooping and hollering behind him; Jesse holding him as he spoke about being trans, of the fear and worries that hounded him. Jesse pressed to the wall of Miss Montgomery’s house, tasting like cheap liquor and home.

Every corner of Hanzo's mind was filled with the gunslinger. 

An errant thought floated by ---  _ 'If not for my greatest mistake, I would not have met him. If not for the pain I have endured, I would not be here. They led me to this path'. _

"No!" Hanzo's short, sharp whisper was enough to break his meditation, heart hammering away in his chest. That was wrong. To attribute any sort of positivity to the event of harming Genji was incredibly selfish. That sort of thinking was dangerous. It minimized the past, the truth. Genji would be horrified to learn his brother had thought such a thing.

Something brushed against Hanzo's left arm. A faint whisper of softness that caused him to jerk, his attention funneling down to that point.

But not... Exactly. He was feeling other things too - strange things. The sensation of dirt was so strong against his hands and body. The air tasted stronger of stagnation. Likewise, the faint electrical pulse was growing stronger. It was almost suffocating, the way the new sensations avalanched onto him, burying him alive. 

It was as if the world had grown more detailed like Hanzo was simply capable of feeling and being more than he was.

And that was when it clicked.

Mouth agape and eyes wide in shock, he realized he was channeling again. A skill he had not used in years had returned so easily, the dragons heeding his call. 

Despite the dirt; despite the measly offering; despite the lackluster thanks and the meditation given; despite his mistakes; despite failing as a Shimada; despite failing his birth gender; despite maiming Genji --

Despite it all.

They returned.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Hanzo steeled himself as a wave of emotion rolled over him. The dragons felt along the paths, one to the left and one to the right. The right - the right. The power was to the right. In a daze, he stood and walked into the smaller tunnel. The walls were even more jagged than the main cave, pinching the small opening at places. Hanzo would have to turn sideways, but thankfully never had to crawl. With one hand outstretched to feel the wall and ensure he was moving forward, he kept going.

As he followed the path, the feelings faded - the dragons returned and the channeling ended.  _ 'Only the worthy may commune with a dragon' _ . That was what Sojiro had taught the boys. How ancient beasts could still find him 'worthy' was beyond Hanzo, but he felt more than a little sure that the pursuit of their quarry was worthy enough to lend him strength. 

Hanzo continued forward, moving at a snail’s pace. Slowly the opening widened and the lumpy rock walls grew smoother. The transition was hardly unnoticed - after scraping his fingers against rough stone, the feeling of smooth was so soothing he was tempted to pause just to feel it more.

But the earthy texture of the rock continued to grow smoother and smoother. It was by no ways cold in the cave, but the darkness made it cool and this far in without the touch of light, the temperature had dropped decently. The walls were always cool to the touch, so he hardly noticed when it became even colder, his fingertips too entranced with the smoothness.

Right as suspicion was building, Hanzo was blinded by a flash of light. The burst of it seared his eyes like a slap to the face. Crying out, he ducked and drew Stormbow defensively. Behind him, the sound of something 'slamming' shut reverberated forward.

The lights remained on, the world silent after the vibrations ended. Slowly opening his eyes, Hanzo found himself in a decent sized metal corridor. Overhead, electrical lights hummed and blinked lazily. Forward, once again, was the only option. The rear was sealed by a thick plate.

At the other end of the corridor was a metal door, beside it a simple button glowing red.

Every step forward felt perilous, but there were no trap doors. No pressure plates to release toxic gas. No wires to detonate bombs. Nothing but a metal corridor leading to what, for all intents and purposes, looked like the doors to an elevator.

He reached out to press the button and paused; Sweat trickled along his temples as he nervously licked his lips. It could be a trigger for an explosion or a mechanism to release poison gas. In the end, did it matter? There was no way to get out of the metal prison and stalling was only wasting precious time. 

Pressing the button, the doors slid apart and Hanzo stepped inside. 

The metal door of the box closed behind Hanzo with a solid thunk like a casket lid shutting. It was a plain contraption, hemmed on each side with metal handrails. Stepping into the center, Hanzo waited, and after a moment there was the sound of shifting gears. A slight jolt started the downward descent.

Whatever happened now, he was at the whims of his captors. The prey willingly walking into the trap.

"Hanzo Shimada." A warped disembodied voice, the same one from Blackwater, purred his name. "I thought it would be harder to capture you, Shimada," the voice continued, taunting him now, "but I guess love makes all men weak.”

Hanzo made a split second decision, his scowl aimed straight ahead, “You must be mistaken. I am here to rescue my co-worker. A friend, perhaps, but no love.” Silence followed, filling him with a familiar sense of victory. It was the same sensation he would get standing at meetings with his father, working out business deals and dealing with problems. Winning small battles couched in barbed niceties and shadowy threats.

“Did you hear that, McCree?” The sound quality lowered and the warped voice echoed, its malicious taunting turning Hanzo’s stomach into knots. “He doesn’t love you.”

“Hanzo.” The sound of Jesse’s voice, strained and aching made him step forward as if he could reach through space and comfort the man. He had the irrational urge to deny what he had said, to tell the truth. “Hanzo get outta here… Hanzo please you gotta---”

A scream of agony burst from the end of the sentence. Wide-eyed, Hanzo could only stare in shock at the elevator doors as he listened to Jesse’s pain. It ended with ragged panting and whimpers.

“You see, Hanzo, that is what your lying is going to do to him.” The voice taunted, sing-songing the words. In the background, he could hear Jesse’s panting, “So I’ll ask you again ---”

“Please,” Jesse’s broken, tear-filled begging whispered below the words, “Don’t.”

“Do you love him?”

What was the point of the question? Could it be used against him? Why did they want to know something so trite? They could ask him  _ anything _ about the Shimada-gumi, about being an Overwatch agent and yet they picked his personal feelings for one man to grill him on? It was absurd and left Hanzo feeling uneasy. Unable to answer as a million thoughts passed through his mind.

“Oh Hanzo,” the voice mocked with false pity, “lying by omission is just as bad.”

Jesse’s panicked panting increased, growing louder. Hanzo took a step back, pressing into the doors of the elevators, “No..” Jesse pleaded. And then a much louder, more forceful, “No!”

Hanzo grit his teeth, eyes pinched shut and head bowed as his friend’s screams filled the metal box. This was even longer, and when it ended, Jesse’s whimpers were now obvious sobs.

“Why?  _ Why _ are you doing this?” The question tumbled out, spilling from Hanzo without permission.

“So boring! Come on, just answer the question. Do you love him, Hanzo? Do you?”

This time, there was no room for an answer. As soon as the question ended, the agonized screaming began. For a moment he stared stunned, mouth agape before finally succumbing to the pressure.

“YES!”

And all was silent, all but Hanzo’s gasps for air and the roar of his heart beating furiously in his ears. “Yes, I love him! I love him! What does it matter?” Anger rose quickly, pushing away panic. The grip on his bow tightened, a familiar presence. Yes. A trap, but Hanzo was still armed. They had made a mistake not taking his weapon off him. 

“Did you hear that, McCree? He loves you,” the voice cooed in a mocking tone. A soft whimper was the only response. “I think he’s happy, Shimada.”

“I’m coming to get you, Jesse. We’re going to get out of here.” Desperation colored his voice, as deep as the ache that had settled in his chest. He wanted, needed, to make sure the gunslinger knew that help was on the way. His message ended with the eerie laughter of his taunting captor, the rough hollow sound bouncing off the walls of the metal box.

“Once upon a time you had a chance to join Talon as an equal. That chance has since passed, Shimada. How do you expect to save him?”

“You’ve left me ---”

“With your bow?”

Scoffing, Hanzo tilted his chin towards the invisible voice. If this idiot presumed that a bow was an inferior weapon then he, and whoever came at him, would be added to the body count that thought the same. “You know my skill.”

The laugh that rolled from the speakers was chilling. A deep, menacing cackle that dampened the fires of indignation that burned in Hanzo’s chest. “Mr. Shimada, you’re forgetting something very important.

“I also have your weakness.”

Jesse’s scream was a sucker punch of reality, breaking any delusion he had of being the dashing, rescuing hero. A sinking, painful weight rested in Hanzo’s chest. For the first time since approaching the trap, it became clear that leaving it at all might be impossible. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck. Unaware, a slow tremble had started to shake Hanzo’s muscles. Finally, Jesse’s screaming stopped.

“But don’t despair Mr.  Shimada. There is a proposition I have for you. Something that will get you what you seek.”

The elevator stopped with a sudden jolt. Hanzo waited, expecting the doors to open, and when they did not he was forced to take the bait.  _ You are in control. A dragon can never be tamed, not by the unworthy, and they  _ are  _ unworthy. _ “What proposition is this?”

“Talon wishes for your talents, but I ask you  Mr. Shimada, what is better than two dragons?”

“I will  _ not _ give you Genji!” Hanzo hissed, shoulders squaring. 

Another patronizing chuckle came from the disembodied voice, “No. What would be better than two dragons but four. Or six. Or even more.”

The doors of the elevator slid open. Stepping out without an ounce of hesitation, Hanzo found himself in a massive room. A central aisle cut the space in half, leading from the elevator to straight ahead where a large square pillar sat covered in screens. On either side of the aisle, the space was broken up into large cubicles - some of them open, some enclosed. The flooring was a black so deep it felt almost like walking on a void, a starless night sky that threatened to suck him into the nothingness. Adding to it was the lighting - dim and hazy, running on emergency lights only. The shadows and places to hide were more numerous than the space light touched. 

Cursing his lack of sonic arrows, Hanzo drew an arrow and stalked forward. The acoustics of the room allowed the falsely saccharine voice of their tormentor to come across crystal clear. “Talon is interested only in retrieving their tech from McCree. After that, his body will be disposed of.” A lump settled square in Hanzo’s throat. Shadows seemed to jump at him from the floor; a simple flicker of a light was a sudden enemy.

The voice droned on, sounding almost bored, “It would be easy to have his body taken elsewhere when disposed of. Into the hands of someone who could save him. You have that option.”

“You have yet to tell me how I am to get you these dragons,” Hanzo hissed under his breath. The space offered little in the way of hiding spots.

“Is it not obvious, Aiko?”

The name was a flash of lightning from nowhere. Stumbling, Hanzo cursed himself silently for giving such a strong tell, but there had been no preparing for that. Every lead had been doctored, time and money used to fabricate a branch family that allowed Hanzo to live free of the shackles of Aiko. Had they heard the confession? Or perhaps been at the party? 

Undeterred, the voice continued, “Your birthright as a Matriarch of Dragons. Birthing a new generation. What is better than one dragon? Ten dragons that will be molded from birth.” Hanzo’s steps quickened. He needed to find a passageway out of the room. Stairs would be ideal. 

But the idea stuck deep in him, a mental wound that bled profusely. Memories swam at the edges of his vision - a life buried deep in the past. Reproduction. Honor. The duty to bear as many children as possible, to raise them to commune properly with the dragons. 

He had every intention to quip back at the voice - it was obvious that they could do this without Hanzo’s consent. Why even tell him this? It was clearly a trap to try and upset him.

Mouth open to protest, it remained that way when a startled, agonizing scream blasted from the sound system.  _ Jesse. _

No, he had to  _ focus _ and find Jesse. He had to keep his wits about him. It was important, so very important.

“If only you weren’t so selfish Aiko. I suppose he’ll have to die too, just like Genji.”

Something solid and heavy weighed in the bottom of his stomach. Stumbling, Hanzo leaned against a wall of a small cubicle room. They were doing this on purpose to break his mind apart. The flaws in his armor were not small, but large and obvious with just a little research.

The screaming stopped, instead he could hear the broken, fragile whisper of his beloved. “Run Hanzo.”

Somewhere across the room from where Hanzo stood, there was a loud kathunk. Beeps and chirps of omnics filled the space, their heavy mechanical steps jingling merrily. 

“Time to make a choice, Aiko. Will you accept and save McCree? Or run and kill him? Run as you have done your entire life.”

Those memories that had stayed in the corner, that had been only a shadowy threat, were blinding. Guilt and fear made a terrifying cocktail in his stomach, blurring reality and rationalism into a sludgy, incomplete mess. 

Saving McCree was the most important.

But it meant being used as a broodmare.

It meant being  _ Aiko. _

“Tick tock, Tick tock. If the omnics get you, there will be no choice.”

He ran. Space was what was needed. Hanzo started for the opposite wall of the room - if the omnics were on the right side, then being fully left was the best idea. They also had to come from  _ somewhere _ other than the elevator. That meant there were openings and, with luck, perhaps one where he was headed. Weaving a messy trail between the cubicles. Lungs burning, Hanzo launched himself upwards and scrambled up the wall of a cubicle. There, from his perch, he spotted a door on the far left wall.

Seconds later, it too smashed open. Four omnics stumbled out, their heads searching left and right for Hanzo. Three splicers and one Eradicator. “Fuck!” He dove off the top of the structure, landing with a roll. Hanzo once more wove a path through the cubicles, the rush of wind and the beat of his heart a loud roar in his ears, with only the deadly metallic thumps of footsteps to accompany it.

“If they catch you I don’t think I can convince Talon this was your doing, Shimada… And I don’t think your friend can handle much more of this treatment.”

Another ghostly wail of pain roared from the hidden speakers. Sweat clung to Hanzo’s brow, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. The elevator that he had gone down opened its doors, another set of three omnics exiting it with a series of whirrs, chirps, and beeps. All eradicators, their guns glinting in the light with dark promises. 

He was pushed towards the tall central pillar, the screens all black.

Thoughts of saving Jesse were slowly being overwhelmed with the desire to run. The past was too close, choking him of all reason. 

“What will it be Aiko? Will you sacrifice him as you did your brother?”

“I didn’t!” Too far gone, he hadn’t realized that his scream, the plea to end the onslaught of demands and memories, was not internal but external.

Abruptly, the screens on the pillar snapped on, washing Hanzo in a bright purple light. He instinctively threw both arms up in front of his face. It took a second for his eyes to adjust, but his ears picked up the breathless whispers and voices.

_ “We need to get down there and help him.” _

Another voice, much further away, slammed the final nail in the coffin for Hanzo.

It was pitchy and hoarse, wavering over some vowels or words before rasping back low. Haunting, but likely only to him. A voice he had lived with for decades.

Even now, when the nightmares came and all he could do was watch from afar, the form Hanzo took was mostly like his current state. Flat chest, deep voice, muscular. While the video was small and the figure blurry, it was clearly feminine - a bust, round hips, flattering clothing. The royal blue of the kimono popped against the dark wood, grain colored tatami, and red lacquered beams. As much as the electric green of the other figure.

_ “You betrayed us all. You betrayed  _ me. _ How could you do this, Genji?” _

Like a black hole, all attention was sucked down into that moment. There was no escaping the pull. Strength leached from his limbs until Hano’s knees buckled. He fell with a thud, Stormbow slipping from his fingers to clatter uselessly on the ground. 

_ “It doesn’t have to be like this, Hanzo. We can escape.” _

Hearing Genji’s voice, no longer filtered by mechanics, was disorienting to say the least. Only in nightmares did it return, and the veil of sleep took its own toll on the clarity. Ten years of silence had tainted the robust tenor into something softer. The nature of it was gone, but the message burned into his soul.

In mute horror, Hanzo watched the worst mistake of his life again. The battle of words, then swords. Their call and response of bloodletting cuts and sharp jabs. In the heat of it all, Hanzo had been deafened to the plea that hung in Genji’s voice. Now it was so clear.

A sob choked him as his shoulders bent below the weight of the memories, of the guilt. Genji never wanted to hurt him. Genji didn’t betray  _ Hanzo. _ He betrayed the clan. Back then, there was no Hanzo, only The Shimada Heir. A representation of family that dominated all else.

Whatever sickness had chased after him, that kept nights sleepless, forced Hanzo to raise his head and watch as the dragons struck out and cut down Genji. Even through the blur of tears, the familiar noises of his brother’s death struck Hanzo deeply. 

“And to think, you’re going to do the same to Jesse,” Taunted Sombra, her mocking, jeering voice pushing Hanzo back into himself, into a ball. “You are going to kill him so you can run away again.”

Failed. Oh, the people who had been failed by him. Genji, The Clan, and now Jesse. Jesse who would die for the simple act of being close to Hanzo. All because he could not work up the courage to sacrifice himself, to subject himself to that torture.

_ You are a failure. _

“Pathetic. The best assassin in the world,” the disembodied voice mocked and laughed, “Do you think they would still say that if they knew you had transitioned to escape judgment?”

The laughter broke through the shouts on the screens - the strike team moving in. Hanzo would be gone. They would find Genji. This part of the story was only known recently, more than ten years later. 

“No.”

Sitting up, Hanzo stared at the screens. The scene was being replayed, but this time the icy grip of guilt and memories could not hold him down. Something stronger than either of them resided at Hanzo’s core. 

“I did not… I did not transition to escape the law.” Everything became crystal clear, the fog of emotional torture whisked away so abruptly Hanzo felt ashamed it had even worked. There was no way they could give Jesse back. All of this had been to break him down until there was nothing left. In a weaker man, that last bit would have been the point of no return. 

But instead of breaking him, what they found after digging through the layers of pain and trauma, was a core of steel. The heart of a dragon. Grasping Stormbow, he knocked an arrow and pulled back. Blue light began to shimmer and glow from the intricate tattoo, casting harsh shadows across Hanzo’s face. He aimed at the screens.

“I transitioned for  _ myself, _ ” Hanzo hissed the word out, electricity jumping from his tattoo in wild snaps. Ozone oozed into the air. “For the first time in my life, I did something for myself. It was the first day I began to  _ live _ !”

Perhaps there had been a rebuttal, or maybe even the omnics moving in quicker to claim their prize. Hanzo did not know. As soon as the arrow flew from the grip, the dragons burst from their confines.

An explosion of sparks and electricity rained from the monitors, a veritable wave of power bursting and destroying any electronic in its path. It pulsed around the air, knocking off his hat and sending it into the darkening abyss. Chin held high, Hanzo breathed a sigh of relief. 

They chewed apart the omnics, ripped apart the base, and plunged everything into darkness. Everything except for where Hanzo stood. His tattoo still glowed, the energy fresh and untamed as it curled and danced on his arm. 

Much like in the cave, he became aware of his senses being ‘stretched’. The dragons were channeling him, seemingly beckoning their master to come to a point in the large room. The pull of it was like a piece of metal being tugged towards a magnet. 

All at once, a thought occurred to Hanzo that had him running.

Jesse.

The door on the far right of the room was still open from when the omnics hard burst in. Outside of it, Hanzo found that the emergency generator lights had kicked on. They blinked dull red, washing the world in a sheet of blood. At the hallway, he took a right, running faster as the urging became desperate.

Hanzo burst into a room a found himself almost tripping over the destroyed carcass of an omnic. It was shredded, presumably by the dragons, inky liquid sluggishly chugging out of ripped piping. Under the scent of that oil, the harsher smell of iron pervaded the area. A plethora of tools lay round it - surgical equipment Hanzo realized.

Glancing up, Hanzo stopped breathing.

Jesse lay on a chair that looked similar to a dentists. His legs and torso were strapped down, with both arms spread from his sides and strapped as well. Blood was trickling from wounds on his arms, his bare chest covered in gashes and cuts.

“Jesse!” Rushing to the gunslinger's side, Hanzo pressed his fingers against his neck and felt cold dread rush over him. There was no pulse. “No. No…”

In rough, hurried motions, Hanzo ripped the backpack off and dug inside. From the bag, two canisters, the size of soda cans, were retrieved. Hands shaking, he gave each of them a quick twist, causing a mist-like spray of yellow nanobots to erupt from the device. Setting each down, he found an injection of nanites - the golden serum glowing faintly, almost orange in the red-tinged world - and quickly administered it to the cowboy.

But there was no waking. 

“Please, please don’t be gone. Please.” Frantically looking around the chair revealed a large handle - it was mostly electronic, but presumably in case of no electricity, it could be manually moved. Hanzo kicked at the handle once, twice, and three times before it snapped, sending the reclining position into something fully lying down.

Years ago, so many that the memory was faded around the edge, Hanzo and Genji had been taught CPR.

_ “What’s the point? We’re assassins, not saviors,” _ Genji grumbled. Their master at the time only sighed and pointed to the dummy laid out between them.

_ “While killing is your field, you would do to know these skills. One day, you may have to save each other.” _

Tilt the forehead back. Jesse was still warm, sweat still clammy on his skin. Most likely from the torture. Pull down the jaw. Blood stained his teeth. Pinch the nose. Place your mouth over theirs.

The taste of blood rushed across his tongue. It was still warm. Tacky and iron filled, it twisted his stomach, nausea rising with alarming speed.

Two breaths. One. Two. Each time the chest rose.

Pulling back, Hanzo placed his a hand at the center of Jesse’s chest, the other placed on top of it with fingers laced. Thirty compressions. 

Two breaths.

Thirty compressions.

The cycle continued, Hanzo acutely aware of the time sliding between his fingers. How long had Jesse been out for? What was the cause? Blood loss and shock? Or something else? 

By the time he had done five, Hanzo was shaking. By this time help might have arrived, or there would at least be more directions. Or a defibrillator.

Electricity.

It was a long shot, but at this time, Hanzo was willing to try anything. It was his final option.

He placed his hands over Jesse’s heart and closed his eyes.  _ Please. Just one more time, help me. Help him.  _

There was a brief taste of ozone before Hanzo felt the snap of power, the burst of energy leaving him with a tiny crack.

Hanzo pressed two fingers against Jesse’s neck and choked with relief when a sluggish, but strong, pulse beat there. Jesse McCree was alive. Carefully, he began to undo the buckles and bindings from McCree. 

After years of killing, Hanzo Shimada had actually saved a life.


	14. The Great Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: past child abuse, wounds, blood, graphic violence

Desert heat poured down around him, but the wide brim of his cowboy hat cast a nice shade over his face and eyes. It was too big; slipping down and forcing the would-be gunslinger to push it back up again. A flimsy, bone dry wooden fence was lined with empty aluminum cans; a mix of soda and beer, but mostly beer. Cheap stuff, that came in big packs and tasted like piss.

_ ‘And how do y’know what that tastes like?’ _

That earned him a black eye. Even now, it still ached; the pain throbbed in his left temple. Least the others laughed and clapped him on the back. Jesse went to bed that night feeling warm and happy. 

But now wasn’t the time for getting lost in thoughts. From a gun belt around his waist, he pulled out a heavy, old-fashioned revolver.  _ Peacekeeper. _ Rolling back both shoulders, he tilted up his head and aimed the gun.

And now… And now he was getting cold feet. “ _ Mierda… _ ” Shoulders slumping, Jesse kicked at the ground. If only he could kick himself in the past.

It was dumb. He shoulda picked something better. John had made his trigger clenching his teeth twice. Emanuel flexed his big two. All subtle stuff that just made the tech work well. But here was  _ bobo _ Jessito and his big ol’ hat that didn’t fit, with his big ol’ gun he couldn’t aim, and now he had to make a big ol’ scene ---

A sharp breath culled the thoughts before they could keep going and the tears started flowing. Lord knew he wouldn’t be able to live down that humiliation. Glancing over his shoulder, he double checked no one was standing in the shadows, waiting to jump out and mock him. When the gnawing paranoia was quelled, Jesse faced the line of cans again.

Gun up. Aim.

He whispered, “It’s high noon.”

John said it was like time slowed down. He was bragging to Abby about how he counted the feathers on the ass of a chicken. That it guided his hand and let him get the perfect shot every time.

Except it sure didn’t  _ feel _ like time had slowed down. Didn’t feel any different than when he normally aimed the revolver. Holding his breath, Jesse squeezed one eye shut and shot at one of the cans. It stood proudly, the kick of the gun sending the bullet flying off in an unintended path. 

Tsking, Jesse did another glance behind before saying, with a little more force, “It’s High Noon.” Still nothing. “It’s… High Noon?” Odd, saying the phrase just made it seem to stretch and become less like words. Like he was bending it out of shape. Clearing his throat, he decided that it was clearly a lack of conviction that was causing the tech to not activate.

“It’s High Noon!” Jesse aimed the gun and fired the next six bullets wildly. Miraculously, the cans lived to see another day. 

“What the hell? It’s High Noon, It’s High Noon, It’s High Noon, It’s ---”

“One O’Clock, actually.”

A pitchy voice from behind made him whirl around, heart jumping clear into his throat. Standing there, like a heat mirage, was a beautiful woman. Dark black hair, like a stroke of ink, cascaded around her face. She was wearing some sort of strange get up. Lots of layers, not that he was one to talk. It reminded Jesse of the time he’d been flipping through channels and found that weird cartoon. What was it called? Annie-may?

In the back of his head, a little voice whispered:  _ Not a woman. _

“Phew, you scared me. Good thing I just unloaded this.” Jesse’s voice was deeper. It rumbled in his chest. The woman (?) laughed at that, her sharp mischievous grin doing funny things to the butterflies that occupied his stomach.

“Oh yes,” She (?) approached, “I am lucky, considering the… ‘what for’ you gave those cans.”

Chuckling, Jesse tipped his hat back --- it fit a lot better now --- “Hey now, that ain’t fair. I didn’t know I had an audience.”

Instead of responding, the person before him cocked their head to the side, “Why ‘High Noon’? Could you not have picked something else?’

Funny. The fellas had asked the same thing, but Jesse had been unwilling to tell them the truth. You didn’t give bullets to your enemies and act surprised when you got shot. But he felt the need to explain to the one standing before him. Somehow, deep down…

Yeah. He was sure of it. He could trust this person.

“Well, my Mama… She loved this old, old film by Gary Cooper. It was called High Noon. And the guys who put the tech in said to make the activation sequence somethin’ you wouldn’t forget.”

Instead of responding with words, the person hummed and stepped even closer. The burning certainty that the person before him was not a woman, but a man, grew stronger and stronger. Despite the soft chest, pitchy voice, and fine makeup. A quote from the movie, something his Mama loved to say, popped into his head.

“It takes more than big broad shoulders to make a man.”

That won another laugh. A new certainty settled over him.

_ You like him. You like him a lot. _

“Turn around, cowboy. I’ll show you what you’re missing.” 

Doing as requested sent every one of Jesse’s senses out of whack. Exhaustion clung stubbornly to each muscle. A throb of pain stabbed through his left eye as if someone had grabbed an icepick and slammed it through his skull. But behind him, perhaps the only thing keeping Jesse standing, was the muscular, strong build of a man. The press of sturdy muscles against his back, of the warmth leaking into his skin, was damn near holy.  
Two powerful arms wrapped around Jesse. His eyes fell to the dragon’s maw on Hanzo’s wrist as two hands covered his own. Together they raised the revolver once more. “You have to drawl it out, low and slow. It rolls out of your toes like the toll of a bell. A warning, a premonition of death.” The deep voice at his back made him ache. Forget the cans, forget activating Dead Eye; the only thing Jesse wanted was to grab onto the handrail and beg Hanzo to take him. 

“Focus, McCree.” Amusement laced Hanzo’s voice, “Try it.”

“All right. Uhm. It’s High Noon,” he drawled it out, low and slow. Just as the others had described, time seemed to slow, to bend at the seams and fall apart.

That low, thunder rumble of a voice purred against his ear. The scrape of teeth sent a wave of goosebumps down Jesse’s arms. “Draw.” Then those teeth were biting down, nipping at his ear as the gunshots rang. 

And then the world went black.

\---

 

The world came back in dribs and drabs. First was sound - specifically the distant sound of a familiar, thunder rumble of a voice. It sounded like it came from a cave, but Jesse could make out each word, warped as it was. 

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I know it is unpleasant, but I…” There was a harsh sigh and then a stretch of silence. The soft hollow ringing of metal tapping repeatedly against metal followed, growing steadily softer.

The next thing that came back was a memory. Vague shadowy recollections of being in the back of a carriage. Then being hit, beaten, and asked questions. As the memories coalesce into full strings of thoughts, his conscience seems to stitch itself back to the real world, back into his body. Flashes of torture burst from the murk like the husks of living undead. _Strapped to a table, prosthetic removed, a clamp pressed to a prong on the metal base._ _The pain._

The pain.

It didn’t come. 

Instead of succumbing to the agony of the wounds inflicted upon his flesh, Jesse only found himself with bone-deep aches. It reminded him of being in Blackwatch and all their sparring matches - deep-rooted bruises that hurt like a bitch and left him stiff, but certainly not the world ending torture pain that had been inflicted on him. Most of the throbbing and agony that did come up were phantom memories. Besides that, a throbbing headache drummed steadily with his heartbeat, and his mouth was dry. But the most pressing was a strong and unshakable nausea. Groaning again, he attempted to open an eye but regretted it immediately. Light stabbed through him, turning the throbbing headache into a strong and steady pound; each one like being socked in the head.

All Jesse wanted to do was slip back into the embracing darkness, to be rid of this hell; but doing so would definitely be a poor decision if his memories were still accurate. Swallowing through a mouthful of metaphorical cotton, he tried to speak.

“Ha….” But the sound died. It’d take more effort than normal.

Mustering all of the willpower Jesse had, he croaked, “Haan… zo.”

“Jesse?” Oh thank God. Sighing deeply, he raised his right arm slightly. Immediately, the tap tap tap of metal on metal grew louder, the rush of fabric swishing as his friend approached. Hanzo held the raised hand as if it were made of glass and could be broken; though considering his current state, it was broken glass. 

The next attempt at opening his eyes was, blessedly, not meant with immediate searing pain. He blinked slowly, squinting as shapes and figures changed from blurry outlines into something more solid. Including the man that stood beside him. A deep frown had turned Hanzo’s face into a mold of worried wrinkles --- between his eyebrows, tugging down his lips, at the corner of his eyes --- all aimed at Jesse. But just seeing Hanzo was at once joyful and dreadful. Normally unpacking that twisted bundle of emotion was important, but accessing higher thoughts and problem solving was simply not in the cards at the moment. Not when the act of keeping from vomiting was taking up most of his brain’s power.

“How do you feel?” Hanzo asked in a soft hush. 

“Sick t’my stomach.”

Hanzo gave a sympathetic nod, “Nanite sickness. I used all of our canisters.” That sent off an alarm in the back of Jesse’s head, but for the time being, it was relegated to ‘thoughts to examine later’ pile. ”Jesse? We need to get out of here. I have an office chair for you to use, but I need to know: Can I move you?”

No. That was the immediate response, but it relied strongly on just how he was feeling. It was unfeasible. “Yeah. Reckon y’can. Just… Help me.” Together they got Jesse sitting up. For a brief, horror-stricken moment, the churning in his stomach switch from a low boil to a gurgling, boiling pot that was about to spill. A few deep breaths settled it down, and then together they had him standing so he could be transferred to a wheeled office chair Hanzo had found. His legs shook like a newborn foal’s with even the barest weight put on them. Not for the first time, Jesse found himself thanking God for Hanzo’s ingenuity.

Sinking into the fake leather of the chair, he tilted his head back and breathed deeply and evenly through his nose. “All right,” Hanzo’s soft voice was a blessing. Normally his partner was assertive, his voice booming across a battlefield; now he was practically whispering, “We’re going to start moving.”

Thanks to the warning, Jesse was prepared for the ramp-up of sickness that started. Groaning, he felt sweat bead on his forehead as saliva gathered in his mouth. Christ almighty, he might actually puke. It sounded like a  _ very _ bad idea, considering Jesse hadn’t a clue what was even left in his stomach.

From behind him, there was the sound of a soda can being popped open and some shuffling. “Drink this.” Peeking open his eyes, Jesse found a white-labeled can with a straw poking out the top. Hanzo quickly added, “Slowly.” Reading was, apparently, too difficult for his brain right now too. Trusting Hanzo, Jesse took the drink and sipped through the straw.

It tasted like… Like oily salt water. Thick and at the same time thin. As if Jesse was sucking down some of that cornstarch water substance he made in science class that one time. His stomach did a flip a gymnast would have envied and Jesse had to pinch not only his eyes but his lips shut, to keep from evacuating what he’d just swallowed.

“Gonna… Puke…”

“Try your hardest not to, Jesse.” Hanzo’s stern warning only served to flare his annoyance. Damn smug asshole, making him drink this disgusting crap. He’d keep it down if only to rub it in Hanzo’s face.

They stopped moving and after a few minutes, Jesse felt confident enough to open his eyes. Hanzo was standing near him, staring at a large framed picture. A map, actually. His finger was tracing along a path. In the dim light of the hall, it was difficult to tell what was happening - everything was pitched in a red, eerie glow that made Jesse even more uncomfortable than before. “This shit is disgusting,” Jesse grumbled and raised the can.

“I know. Just try and drink it, please.” Hanzo responded, sounding every bit like a put out mother dealing with their spoiled child.

He knew it was probably for his own good, but Jesse couldn’t help but grumble. Another sip sent his stomach into the same acrobatic routine, leaving him to pinch shut his eyes and think pleasant thoughts. Other than a soft ‘all right’, Hanzo was silent. The chair jostled slightly when it was grabbed from behind, lurching Jesse as their pace quickened down the hallway, their brief pitstop over.

It wasn’t until Jesse was ten sips in that the concoction stopped making him want to puke. Without needing to keep his stomach from evacuating, his brain was given the arduous task of piecing together questions and picking through the ‘later’ pile that had been growing. Of course, the first thing that came to mind was simple.

“Hanzo, what the fuck is this, anyway?”

They were moving quickly, Jesse noted now, the metal of Hanzo’s feet on the floor like gunshots; they rang in the empty corridors, echoing noisily. A new question was added to the ‘later’ pile: Where the hell were the bad guys? Why was no one coming after them? 

“A premixed solution for rehydration from isotonic dehydration.”

Maybe, just maybe, if Jesse wasn’t recovering from torture, he’d have pieced together the meaning. Even then, it was a long shot, “A what dehydration?”

“I believe it’s called…” Hanzo trailed off, humming as he thought, “Electromina in America. This is a generic from our crash kit.”

Oh Lord. Jesse groaned and scowled at the can. No wonder it tasted like ass. Electromina was repulsive. Normally it was the stuff doled out to shock survivors or those who were severely dehydrated.  _ Guess it makes sense I’m drinking it, then. _ It also made more sense why Hanzo had warned him to not vomit.

Before Jesse could ask another question, Hanzo posed one, “What do you remember?”

“Kinda patchy,” he admitted softly, feeling almost ashamed of the poor timeline that had been shambled together in his mind. “Remembered when they were tauntin’ you. Remember uh… Fuck, not much more. The omnic hurtin’ me started to jerk and spasm, then…”

Blue.

A rush of blue.

“Did you send the dragons?” 

“I did.”

Grunting in acknowledgment, Jesse brushed his hair back with his bandaged hand, “Once the omnic was destroyed I passed out. No pain keepin’ me up and all.”

“That was five or so minutes before I found you.” 

Now that raised another question. Jesse took another sip of the Electromina and grimaced. No longer nauseated, it wasn’t as terrible. Still not great, though. “How long was I out for, Hanners?”

Hanzo was quiet, so Jesse decided to not press it. Besides the tapping of his feet and the humming purr of the office chair’s wheels rolling along, the world around them was silent. It felt a lot like going to a school at night time: the halls were devoid of life and action, but just knowing they  _ should _ be full and active was enough to put anyone on edge. It gave Jesse the heebeegeebees.

Besides that, the halls were starting to widen. The baseboard LED, that had provided most of the light in the halls and corridors, dimmed considerably here - the space was much larger than they could illuminate. The red washed everything in an eerie tint. Either someone was going to come and murder them, or perhaps do an exotic dance. 

The corridor they turned into was large enough to drive a truck or two down --- as a matter of fact, a hover truck sat there, some crates in its bed, tailgate down, with boxes on the floor outside. For a moment, his tired mind asked: Is the truck half full or half empty? It earned a soft snort and another sip of Electromina.

Strips of dark dashes were inlaid into the floor - some thicker than the others. As he was pushed by, Jesse peeked over the edge of the chair and realized they were lights. Deadlights that could have made the red shadowy world a little better. 

“Fifteen minutes.” The answer made Jesse blink and look over his shoulder --- so slowly, it hurt like a sonnovabitch --- to Hanzo. “You were out for fifteen minutes.”

“Now, I might have a head injury, but I’m pretty sure you’re sayin’ we weren’t accosted for twenty odd minutes?” Jesse’s laugh was weak and thin, barely more than a chuff of air, “Now that can’t be right.”

“No, it can’t be; but it is.” 

What the fuck was going on? Jesse didn’t like this one bit. One arm down, beaten all to hell, weaker than malnourished fawn, and stuck deep in an enemy hold. Yet, despite being in one room for over twenty minutes, no one had come for them. Either they were walking into a trap or…?

Swallowing thickly, Jesse squeezed Peacekeeper, happy for the welcoming weight of the revolver. “So where we goin’ now, Hanzo?”

“Here.”

They had been rushing forward in a straight line for some time, whizzing past stalled trucks and flat pushcarts, that Jesse hadn’t really noticed that the gloom ahead wasn’t giving way to more hall - No, it was opening wider and wider and wider. Like a giant’s mouth yawning, though this giant only had a single tooth. It hung from the ceiling on steel jaws clamped around a grooved beam. From the clamp, a strong central arm was connected to a platform with waist-high walls that appeared to come down or be moved. Hanzo sped up, rushing to the platforms side with Jesse pushed along.

Closer yet, Jesse could see now it was a trolley of some form. A hybrid between a train and an airway tram. Hanzo left him on the sidelines as he dashed aboard the vehicle. Towards the front was a small console, dimly blinking in the murk. 

“This will lead us to another station and finally out of the base.” Hanzo’s back was to him, but Jesse could read Hanzo’s back like his face. Tension grew between each shoulder until it seemed as if his partner was trying to curl inward. “Damn it…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought that the emergency power would extend to the tram system.” Hanzo climbed back out of the car and stood beside Jesse. He scowled at the cart, arms folded across his chest. A perfect caricature of a scolded child. “So that employees could have escaped.”

Memories of trucks half full or half empty came to mind. “Nah,” Jesse said in a soft voice, “I’m guessin’ they know who evacuated already. Prolly turned the power off once all of ‘em were gone.”

Which left them back at square one. Hanzo continued to stare at the cart, the wheels almost visibly turning inside his head. Left to his own devices, Jesse looked around, peering into the redish gloom for something that might lend them aid. The sensation of being under stress, that an attack or an ambush could happen at any moment, butting heads with the calm quiet left him uneasy and exhausted. 

As happened many times in situations that were bleak or seemingly impossible, words of Gabriel Reyes came to mind.  _ “Listen, Mijo. It ain’t hard, it’s new. Stop lookin’ at the damn problem and start looking at solutions.” _

Escaping on the tram was out. There were most likely stairs, but Jesse was in no shape to climb them. The trucks they passed looked to be like all the ones in Armadillo or littered along the superhighways - dead and useless trash taking up space. It was a damn shame too, because given how wide the tram area was, and the fact the trams weren’t running, meant they could’ve driven down the middle.

… Driven down the middle. “Hanzo, what if we just walk the length of the tunnel?”

“Walk…” Hanzo was staring now at the large indent of space where the two trolley bodies would travel. The idea smacked Hanzo so hard he seemed to reel back, a sharp breath sucked in, “It could work. Let me help you stand.”

Jesse was guided out of the chair and then with Hanzo’s help hobbled to the ledge of the dock to sit. Cold concrete nipped at his buttcheeks, making him shiver and for the first time notice how frigid it was around them. The chair was pulled over, Hanzo hopping in first and then the chair. Finally, with careful movements and a ton of support from Hanzo, Jesse was eased down.

While the trams themselves didn’t use the floor, other vehicles likely did. The floor was smooth concrete, likely laid at the same time as the docks. The wide arched tunnel was just as gloomy as the wide hallway - the light moulded into the foot of the walls spacing even further apart. It left huge gaps of shadow that pulsated with the dull, synchronized blinks of the LED. Like a giant monster blinking at them, inviting them to step further into the trap.

Jesse had a lot of time to observe the nothingness, to catalogue any aches or pains (there were plenty of those), and to consider how useless he was as Hanzo pushed him silently. More and more of his thoughts were drawn to the last point, sticking there and refusing to budge; like metal pulled to a magnet. Wallowing in self pity wasn’t something he enjoyed indulging in, but just this once he let it slide.

Those dark stormcloud thoughts were broken apart when the tunnel seemed to grow wider - the center median they were walking upon bloated as the tracks branched apart. Jesse frowned, catching the change first.

“Reckon we’re approaching the track change?”

“It would appear so.”

On the left and right, the lights grew brighter, showing the sharp edge of the tunnels end in stark relief. The strongest light was from the center, where a sloping platform broke from the median ground and rose upwards. Unlike the track lights that lined the tunnels, the ones on each side were spaced closer. Hanzo grunted and started to push harder, the chair lurching as he gave a running start towards the sloped platform. McCree braced, wincing and gritting his teeth when the chair jolted at the bottom of the ramp.

The run up was necessary, as the last few inches of the slope almost conquered Hanzo. But soon they both were at the top of the concrete island and could survey the scene around them.

Each side was flanked by two train tracks. One set started from this point and the other continued on, back behind them and into the tunnel they had exited. Cupping the tracks, closing them in, were solid concrete docks not unlike the one Hanzo and Jesse had climbed down from. Straight ahead on the dock, after a hunk of flat, was another ramp, leading further up. 

“The map is out of date.” Hanzo hissed, snuffing out the last remaining hope keeping Jesse up. A pit of anxiety and dread coiled deep in him. The once welcoming weight of Peacekeeper was no longer a tool, but a destiny. He’d seen what Talon did to folks. Sucking in a breath, he rubbed a calloused thumb against the cool steel of the revolver. Luck taking its due diligence, he supposed. 

Despite the Electromina, Jesse’s mouth was sorely dry. He swallowed twice and managed to croak out, “How so?”

“This,” Jesse craned his neck to see Hanzo speak and wave his hand around, a sour look pinching his face into a bitter scowl, “was not supposed to come until further along the line.”

“So, map is outdated… Or it was done on purpose.” Jesse wasn’t sure which one was better. One sounded too laid back and the other too paranoid. Would Talon go to such a length to code their facilities maps on the off chance someone they were detaining escaped? 

Jesse carefully took off his hat, groaning when all the muscles along his back and arms fought the movement, still tender and raw from the nanite and abuse. He flipped the old battered thing to face him. The front emblem was held in place to the hat’s band with firm stitching, but the center of the emblem, the round circle, well… Smiling slightly, he pressed his thumb to the bottom of it and pushed. After a few seconds of pressure, the disc of metal pushed out, allowing for it to be removed.

A coin.

“Looks t’me that we gotta go left or right. Back ain’t really an option. So, Hanzo.” He turned once more, grinning toothily at his partner who stared back speechless. His eyes flicked from McCree’s face to the shiny coin held between Jesse’s thumb and forefinger. “Heads or tails?”

“Heads.” Hanzo answered without hesitation, his baffled look morphing into one of determination.

“All right. Heads for right,” Jesse showed the coin again, the one side blank and smooth, “tails for left.” The reverse of the coin held the three letters: JMM.

With a flick of the thumb, the coin shot straight up, glinting in the dull light, before it fell and landed on Jesse’s leg where he quickly covered it with his palm.

Gabe used to brag about how all the Blackwatch members had ‘The Devil’s own luck’. Genji surviving death. Jesse getting the ride out of life in prison (or worse). Even Gabe surviving the war and then being let loose to mop up atrocities across the globe.

But the only pack Jesse had made with the Devil was the one burning in his left eye. Anything else was Coyote, or Fate, or Destiny, or Divine Providence, or whatever you wanted to call it. 

The coin, revealed, showed the blank face. 

“Heads it is. Guess we’re headin’ right, partner.” Jesse carefully replaced the coin, priming the mechanism inside to keep it tight. Hanzo carefully guided the Jesse down the slope, then to the right side. Once in place, he slowly stroked his thumb over the cold, smooth surface of the emblem.

“I did not know the coin was there.” Hanzo’s voice broke Jesse from his thoughts.

“Not many do.” The hat was resettled on his head, the familiar warmth of it settling a little bit of his nerves. “Don’t bring it out all that often.” Or at all, if it could be helped. It wasn’t so much a good luck charm as it was an ‘oh shit’ charm. When everything fell down and it came to an option of A or B, Jesse fell back to it.

Last time had been during the debate of staying or leaving Blackwatch. After everything that happened, it felt more like a curse or a burden, than any sort of ‘charm’. A penance.

But none of this passed his lips. He remained stoic and silent as Hanzo pushed him forward.

“Hanzo, I’m sure I can walk.”

There was a scoff behind him and then the hat pushed further down on his head, briefly obscuring his vision. “Nonsense.”

“C’mon, Hanzo. Let me do somethin’.” Oh Lord, he was whining wasn’t he? Maybe it was time to evoke that option C hanging heavy on his hip. Black humor aside, being babied like this didn’t set right with him. “I ain’t dead.”

“No, but you almost were.” Hanzo sounded exasperated, his voice thin with a put on patience that one would take when talking to a particularly rebellious child. “If you wish to help, then tell me a story.”

Now that made Jesse pause, “A story?”

“Indeed,” amusement colored Hanzo’s voice, “a story. Or something about yourself.”

Jesse could only chuckle, a font of warm fondness blossoming in his chest. “Shucks, honey, thought you might like me shuttin’ up for once. I talk a lot about myself and tell lots of stories.”

“Yes,” Hanzo hummed, “you speak a lot, but you end up saying very little.”

Oh.

The truth in those words cut Jesse to the quick, leaving him in stunned silence. It wasn’t so much that he’d been called on his shit; no, plenty of others before Hanzo had pointed out the same exact thing. It was that, in order to notice it, you had to pay attention. You had to  _ listen _ to what Jesse was saying, which was a whole lot of nothing important. Surface level nonsense was given out like it was going out of style, but beyond that? Nothing.

“What… What would you like to know?” He asked in a soft, awestruck tone.

“Anything, as I said. What about your parents?”

_ Oh just like any other. They raised me as good as two poor folk could. Sent me to school. Free lunches there and a decent education. Spent most of my time riding horses or playing with things I really shouldn’t’ve. _

The typical words rolled out in his mind, their rote form worn in and familiar. Jesse swallowed them all down and stumbled onto the path rarely traveled.

Into memories of hiding below beds. Into memories of a rickety old table and a steaming bowl of posole. Into memories of whole summers spent outdoors, reading Louis L'amour and pretending he was a real cowboy.

It was funny how much he asked Hanzo to trust him during their mission, but now Jesse was left wondering if it hadn’t been hypocritical. Hanzo had given him a lot of that trust - physical and emotional. While it was no doubt given that Hanzo could be counted upon physically, but emotionally? Jesse hadn’t really given him the chance. Hadn’t done the sort of leap of faith like the one Hanzo had done at the party.

“Well, uh… Let’s see.”  _ Ain’t much t’tell. _ The phantom words came first, but Jesse mentally swatted them away. “My Mama was Mexican Navajo. Daddy was Chicano. He wasn’t around much, but he uh…” The words faded, trailing off into a thick, painful silence.

“What was it you told me, back at the ranch?” Hanzo’s question gave him pause. Had he said something important back at the ranch? Hell, that felt like months ago now. “‘The past is the past; you don’t have to let it hurt you.’ Yes, that’s it.”

Another pearl of wisdom from a rotten mouth. Rubbing the heel of his palm to his left eye, he sighed out deeply.

“Mama was… She was always there for me. I used to be afraid of everything as a kid, but she taught me how to respect it or deal with it. Some spiders were fine to let be, some it was better to kill. Same with snakes and critters. She uh, she taught me to shoot.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah…” He rubbed the cold metal of the gun, a harsh difference to the desert heat blazing in his memory. “Taught me to cook, to sew, to survive in the wild… Just about every damn skill I have, I have thanks to her.” Except for killing, or military strategy. That came later, the chapters of his life that filled the saga ‘post mama’. With a startled, painful clench in his chest, Jesse realized he’d lived more years without his mother than with. An old, aching sadness swam before his eyes, but he got the better of it and wrangled it back deep down.

“From what I know of stories, isn’t that usually the father’s job?” 

He knew the laugh he gave was clogged full of tears, but Jesse couldn't help it. “Oh Lord, she’d’ve hit you upside the head. I suppose you’re right in a way; that is usually the dad’s sorta job. He taught me stuff, too, I guess.”

How to hide. Sometimes being in plain sight worked better, like below a table, than tucked far away in a closet or below a bed. 

How to assess danger. More than once Jesse would walk home from school, open the backdoor, step into the kitchen, and find himself face to face with the blank, uncaring face of his father. The one that would go happy or sad depending on how many bottles he’d drank. In that split second, a decision had to be made. Was it safe to continue? Was it better to leave? As time passed, the bruises adorning Jesse’s body faded as his skill grew.

How to talk a lot without saying anything. That ‘yarn weaving’ came straight from the spectre of his father. A trait Mama hated, but quickly became the most defining trait. 

“You don’t have to speak if it is difficult,” Hanzo whispered, breaking Jesse of his thoughts.

Shaking his head, he sighed and let his eyes close, “Nah, it’s… I trust you, Hanzo. It’s just, like you said, hard.

“Guess the best way to start is to say my Dad didn’t much care for us. He was gone most of the time. Sleeping around maybe? Dunno. He worked a shitton, but most of it was spent on drinkin’. He’d spend weeks gone, and then well, he’d be back home.”

A short, broken, pained laugh followed, “Probably thrown in jail and lectured. Maybe had a priest give him a big ol’ ‘call to Jesus’ moment. Coulda been his job was over and he was outta work. Whatever it was, he’d be back and actin’ like he never left. He’d throw his weight around, demand this and that, tell Mama what to do and what not to do - so on, so forth.”

Whatever unamused, put on levity had colored his voice left, leaving it low and steeped in remorse. “Then he’d start drinkin’ again. And for the next week or two, we’d live under his tyranny. He taught me to fear people, Hanzo. Taught me it was best to hide myself. Taught me to trust slowly.”

Whatever silence had fallen between them before, it was nothing like this one. This one felt final, like a shutter being slammed closed. It was funny, Jesse thought talking about this would make him feel shitty, but getting it out there actually felt somewhat… Good? It was a mixed emotion, but something had changed for the better. 

“I am sorry you experienced that, Jesse.” 

“It’s all right. It’s uh… Well, this is why I don’t talk ‘bout him or her or mucha anything.” That was one of the many reasons. “Don’t change it and all it does is makes folks pity me.”

There was a sharp scoff from behind him, “Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy; I do not pity you.”

Jesse couldn’t help the laugh that came out. It filled every inch of him with joy and light. How a simple, snarky statement from Hanzo could resonate so deeply and bring him out of his slump was very telling. “Hanzo Shimada you’re a devil.”

A chuckle was his response.

They continued on in silence then, but this time it was much more comfortable. It gave Jesse time to think and realize that, while it was terrifying to bare his past, if he did it for anyone, he knew Hanzo would understand. 

“When we get somewhere… I… I wanna tell ya more, Hanzo. If you’ll listen.”

“Certainly.”

Apparently talking had killed considerable time. The tunnel seemed to grow lighter, the red becoming more vivid and pronounced as they approached another station. The docks on either side rose high and tall.

Sighing, Hanzo walked around the chair and wiped his face, “If we trust the map, we should exit through here. There are pathways that lead to the surface. Further on will lead us to some sort of main depot, where there is surely agents.”

“But we can’t trust the map.” Jesse supplied the grim reminder, earning a solemn nod from his companion.

It felt wrong to use the coin twice in one day, like Jesse was actively tempting fate to screw him over. 

And then, echoing and soft, they heard something new.

Not their voices. Not the silence. Not the beat of hearts or the whispers of breathing.

A sharp sound. Metal against metal.

Like deer caught in the headlights, the stopped moving, their breath shallow and quick.

There, at the very edge of their hearing, the sound of metal, of whirrs and beeps, could be heard. Omnics.

“Oh fuck.” Jesse breathed.

Hanzo glanced around, looking at both docks and the tunnel leading ahead of them and the tunnel they had just crossed. “I cannot tell where it is coming from!” He hissed urgently, eyes narrowed.

At first they had been nothing but a whisper of omnic activity, but now it was a slow and steady hum and movement. A veritable army of death machines somewhere. Near enough that the sound was echoing, confusing its direction.

“I have a plan. Be quiet for a moment.” Hanzo’s instructions shut him up quick. Jesse watched him close his eyes and stand still and tall, chin pointed up towards the ceiling. For a brief moment, he swore he saw purple near Hanzo’s arm - No. It must’ve been blue, a cerulean that flashed against the red gloom had turned purple. 

Was he meant to stay quiet the whole time? Jesse watched in rapt worry as Hanzo continued to breathe peacefully, almost blissfully aware of the army of omnics somewhere in their vicinity. 

And then, like a cord being cut, Hanzo was snapped back to reality. He stumbled and grunted in pain, forcing Jesse to lean forward and catch his weight. The chair rolled them back, stopped by his bootheels.  
“Hanzo!” What the hell happened? He touched Hanzo’s head and cheek, brushing his hair away at the same time. A dulled, feverish looking pain colored Hanzo’s eyes. 

“Straight. We need…” The shuddering breath Hanzo took did nothing for Jesse’s confidence, “To go straight.”

This was insane. He watched helplessly as Hanzo pushed off him and stood up. “My apologies. I… have not summoned the dragons so many times in many years.”

“Wait, you summoned them?” That explained the flash of light he saw. “How? I didn’t see ‘em.”

“No, likely not.” Hanzo gave him a tired smile. It quickly morphed into something sterner, his eyes looking beside Jesse and at… At the tunnel? No. The damn chair.

“I’m walkin’.” He made to stand, but Hanzo was there, grabbing the chair arms and locking him in place with his body.

“No. It is better if I push you. You nearly died.”

“And you,” Jesse gently poked his chest, not breaking eye contact, “are dead on your damn feet, Shimada. You’re tired and I ain’t gonna be the reason you collapse.”

Slowly, painfully slow, Hanzo leaned back. “If you feel sick, you will lean on me.”

“Of course.”

Sitting in the chair, Jesse had felt crummy. Definitely worse for wear. Within five minutes of walking, he felt like shit. Whatever torture had come was more extensive than his few memories suggested.

Ten minutes, and he was leaning on Hanzo, their pace considerably slowed. Fire and ice lanced up and down his nerves, dancing like devils in his stomach, making his knees weak and his head feel funny. 

“It is likely the nanites moving into new areas,” Hanzo reassured. Presumably, because the choice of getting the damn chair was gone. They were too far in to turn back and get it. So he clung to that stubbornly, gripping it tightly and using the motivation to keep going.

No more stories were exchanged. Only their labored breathing and the steadily waning strength. When the light at the literal end of the tunnel came - pale sunlight and something ambient and different from the red, Jesse could have wept with joy.

The tunnel opened into a large empty building. Burnt oil, strong and acrid, tainted the air, despite the large garage style doors being flung wide open. It was empty now, but clearly had been full not long ago.

“Omnics must’ve come from here.” There was no one else here, much like the docks and the halls. It felt as if no one  _ had _ been here. Even the torturer had been an omnic. Jesse puzzled at that, shuddering heavily at the thought of Talon somehow getting the ability to produce omnics.

They crept out the door to the right. Pressed against the corrugated metal wall, Hanzo peeked out briefly before turning to Jesse, “It is a car lot of sorts. It seems deserted.”

“Like everything else.”

Hanzo nodded and hummed his agreement, “Come, you can sit in one while I try to find keys and get one to run for us.”

He followed along like a good little duckling. Being cared for in this manner was starting to chafe his ego.

The lot wasn’t large, enclosed on all sides by a chain link fence and one smaller garage building. A smattering of various sized vehicles filled the space. Most notably was a modern, sleek looking black hovercar that sat closest to them. Hanzo crouched and moved to it, testing the handle and finding the car unlocked, but dead - much like every other hover vehicle. Jesse couldn’t crouch and move, but he did hobble quickly to his partner’s side and sit awkwardly in the driver’s seat.

It was a lot like sitting in an oven. Without the hardlight tinting, the windows let in every inch of the radiant desert heat. To make matters worse, the interior of this nice vehicle was leather. Jesse hissed and jerked when the bare flesh of his arm touched the seat. At least everything was covered, and using his serape, he could lean against the seat.

Settled in, Hanzo left to go and scout out vehicles. Which left Jesse with nothing to do but look at the car.

Funny, this was a style he’d always dreamed of owning. Expensive BMW, nice interior, good mileage on the electric motor… Looked like it even had some spiffy features, if the dull, black screen of the built-in nav was to go by.  The buttons surrounding it were numerous, pictures ranging from maps, musical notes, people, and more obscure - heart, a house, an envelope. Bored and a little punch drunk now from pain, Jesse grinned and placed a thumb over the heart button.

“Mirror Mirror on the wall,” he recited, “Tell me, who do I favor, most of all?” and pressed the button.

The yelp was not manly. Not at all. But what did one expect when, upon pressing the button, the damn car  _ started? _ Almost a week of no electricity, of major highways clogged full of dead cars, and the first one Jesse tried just came to life like it’d been tapped with a magic wand.

Blue lights flickered on across the vehicle as the whir of energy started to gather at the hover wheels. Their grav function was ‘warming up’, causing the car to give a small shudder. From the center console, a holographic BMW logo appeared. It spun around once before morphing into a german shepherd.

A smooth tenor voice, with a light german accent, stated,  _ “Please press your thumb against the ignition to start the vehicle.” _

“Jesse!” Hanzo’s call forced him to rip his attention from the console to where his partner was running back towards the car, a look of stricken worry and awe on his face. He waited until he was closer before asking, breathlessly, “How did you turn it on?”

“No fuckin’ idea. It needs a thumbprint to drive.”

Hanzo caught his breath, eyes flitting across the car as if there was some solution hidden in plain sight. “Wait here. If the car works… There has to be someone left around here.”

Before Hanzo could move far, Jesse reached out and caught his wrist. “Jesse?”

“Listen, just… Be careful, okay? Please.”

Hanzo’s eyebrows rose, his eyes wide and open. Such an honest and open reaction, with no worry that Jesse would use it against him, that drew him in like a moth to the flame. The first time they had hung out, it had sparked something in his heart that had only grown stronger and stronger.

“Please,” Jesse begged, voice laced with desperation. Carefully, Hanzo pulled away Jesse’s hand, but instead of dropping it, he held it briefly.

“Of course.”

And then he was moving, leaving Jesse again. Grumbling softly, he sunk back into the car and waited. Time passed by slowly, the worry gnawing deep inside his bones. There was no clock on the dash. Apparently, only drivers got that feature. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, intent on just resting them to ease the stinging ache that kept buzzing in his left socket.

“Jesse.”

Hanzo’s voice jolted him aware, making him groan. He ached deeply, and the abrupt jerking motion didn’t help. Squinting at his partner, he noticed the grim, stern look on his face. “I need you to move to the passenger side.”

“Uh, sure thing.” Swallowing thickly, Jesse climbed out and moved around the front of the car. As soon as he had left, Hanzo was sitting in the driver seat, fiddling with something. A deep wave of despair washed over Jesse. Looked like this option was out.

He opened the passenger door and sat down, leaving it wide to keep it cool. “Hanzo, hate t’break it to you, but there ain’t no way to hotwire these. They’ve got some of the best te---”

Every word flew from his mind, startled by what he saw.

Hanzo was not trying to hotwire the car. No. What the ex-assassin had done was something ingenious, but also gruesome.

Hanzo had a pile of severed thumbs.

He’d press on against the ignition and when the smooth voice of the holographic german shepherd said  _ “I’m sorry, but you’re not a registered driver for this vehicle.” _ He would toss it out the car and go to the next one. Jesse could only watch in stunned silence, mind seemingly undone by what he was watching.

_ “Hello AGENT 11540. It is good to see you. Starting vehicle now.” _

From the vents, a blast of cold ac had Jesse jerking again in surprise. Damn, he was out of it. Shivering, not from the cold, he pulled his legs in and wordlessly closed the door. Buckling in, he watched as Hanzo dropped all the other thumbs, a pile of six or seven, out and put the winner in the driver’s side cup holder.

“He won’t be needing it anyway.” Hanzo’s offhanded, black humor comment was accentuated by the tired, bone-weary smile he shot McCree. It sent him into a fit of giggles, the both of them laughing as Hanzo settled in, started the car, and drove out of the base.

“Set course for the nearest doctor’s office.” 

_ “Of course.” _

They drove out of the Talon base. Jesse hadn’t a clue where they were. After a five minute drive on dirt road, they wound up on a dusty, dry, asphalt two-lane highway. Hanzo pressed down the petal and then, like magic, they were off.

They escaped. 

“Fuckin’ hell… We did it.” He took off his hat with a shaking hand and set it in his lap, “Good Lord.”

“You can rest, Jesse. I will wake you when we get to the doctors. It will be some time.”

“Thank you, Hanzo. For… For everything.”

As Jesse fell asleep, all he could think of was the pile of thumb and the crooked, dark smile on his friend’s face. It was damn impressive.


	15. Left Your Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: past child abuse, past (minor) character death, implied emotional abuse

Jesse never cared for doctors. It wasn’t their fault - but the rooms always felt cold and even the best interior designer couldn’t shake the sterile feeling. He shifted on the cold metal, watching the short doctor before him scrutinize the lab results on a tablet.

Plump, stocky, with short salt and pepper white hair and warm sepia skin, ‘DRA. ESTRADA’ (as the nametag on her lapel said) looked like she was warped right out of his childhood. 

“You’re lucky,” she turned to glare at Hanzo, who sat quietly near the exam table, “that he didn’t  _ die _ of nanite poisoning.”

Hanzo remained quiet, ducking his head down to break eye contact with the doctor. From where Jesse sat, he could see the way his partner’s jaw clenched, fighting back words of protest.

“That ain’t fair, Doc. He found me bleeding to death from the accident. Weren’t for the use of those I’d be dead.” Jesse gestured towards his torso, where a new, clean bandaged wrapped around his center. His skin was already riddled with long gashes from blades and the starry trails of bullets long since removed. There was no way that the doctor knew that the vivid, pink scar above his heart, the one that branched across his skin in a pattern like frost on a glass window or the branch of a weeping willow, was new. Jesse did, though. Every so often the urge to look at it overwhelmed him.

_ Blue light racing towards him and then darkness. _

It wasn’t the first time the dragons had hit him, or teammates. They usually left the team unscathed, if a little shaken and prone to giving each other some nasty static shocks. This was a first, and he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t fearful. The urge to trace each delicate branch of the blossom was so strong, but other than a faint twitch in of his fleshy fingers, he was still.

When he glanced back at the doc, her eyes were glued at the pattern, “You say the gyropods discharged and shocked you?”

“Yep, what we’re figurin’.”

The older doctor made a sound, like a click and a hiss, while shaking her head. It transported Jesse back to his childhood fast enough he suffered remiscince whiplash. Mama, and just about anyone older than twenty, loved to use it to dismiss those younger than them. From the look in her eye, and how her face had darkened when the lab results came back,  Dr. Estrada wasn’t buying their cover story. He waited on bated breath, wondering if she would push further. Instead, she turned away from them.

“You’re lucky. Very lucky.” Sighing, the doctor set down her pad at the sink’s counter and started to tap the stylus against the screen with speed that belied her years of working in the profession, “Rest is what you need now. Rest, water, bland food, and electromina. If the nausea doesn’t let up by tomorrow afternoon, come back. If your liver starts to hurt, it could be a rare complication. Better to come back and get that checked.”

“Of course, doctor,” Hanzo responded. The doctor shot them both a skeptical look before shaking her head again and leaving.

_ “Idiots.” _

The door closed behind her with a soft click, “She called us ---”

“You do not need to know Spanish to know what she called us, Jesse.” Hanzo’s exasperated exhaustion made him chuckle. Poor fella had been put through the wringer. They both had.

 

After a short, dreamless sleep, Hanzo had woken him up when they were outside the doctor’s office. Their cover story was cobbled together posthaste - Jesse had been found in a car wreckage, the gyropods on two sides exploded, releasing a torrent of energy that had electrocuted him. He was bleeding badly, so Hanzo had used the whole contents of a medical crash kit to get him stable before driving him to the doctor.

It sounded good when they came shambling in, two exhausted, sweaty, hurt men who just needed some medicine. As Jesse buttoned his shirt, the holes started to shine a little brighter, their desperation no longer blinding. Why not call a paramedic? Or the police? They were far from a busy part of Mexico. How was it that what power may be led Hanzo to discovering Jesse alive and was able to stabilize him? The chances were so low.

When he was dressed again, Hanzo offered his shoulder but Jesse shook his head. They were both beat, and now that it was clear Jesse was out of harm's way, he could at least walk the short distance to the car. Pride could be held back by logic and need, but now that neither stood in the way, it ruled again. 

The office was small and homey - three doors and then the little lobby with a smattering of chairs (including a worn-in rocking chair) and the reception counter with a desk behind it. Dr. Estada was the only person there, acting as a swiss army knife of medical professional - lab tech, x-ray tech, doctor, and secretary. She glanced up when Hanzo opened the front door, the same musical bells that greeted them bid them farewell.

_ “Señor Morricone?” _

Jesse stopped and turned, giving her his full attention. Sat behind the desk, she was even smaller but seemed larger and more intimidating than any time before. Seeing as she had his attention, she continued,  _ “I told your boss to stop coming to me for assistance. Next time I see one of you boys, I'm turning you out. Understand?” _

Jesse took off his hat, placing it against his chest. He became painfully aware of how greasy and disgusting his hair must have looked,  _ “Doctora Estrada, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” _

Again, that noise and a headshake. From his periphery, he saw Hanzo grow rigid. Either the doctor did not notice or did not care, as she continued,  _ “I saw your tattoo; I know who you are.” _

She had to bandage him. Of course, she had. It burned at being acknowledged, the guilt and weight of it still a terrible burden even after so many years,  _ “That ain’t who I am, Doña Estrada. I got out,” _ he pleaded, voice soft and entreating. She stared at him hard, clear mistrust and doubt laid bare on her face.

Slowly, the doctor stood. Hanzo took a step closer, his hand pressed against the small of Jesse’s back. All heat and weight traveled there, laser-focused to just how big and encompassing it was. How much Jesse craved it to touch everywhere; and yet nowhere, so it would stop being a distraction. 

For a brief moment, Doctor Estrada’s eyes shifted from their stare down to Hanzo. Whatever she saw there made her lips quirk,  _ “For his sake, I hope you’re right.” _

_ “Pardon?” _ What the hell did that mean? Jesse’s alarm earned him a soft laugh, tired laugh.

_ “It’s nothing. I’m a doctor, not an optometrist. Get out of here, kid.” _ She sat again and began to tap and write on her tablet. With her free hand, she shooed them away like pesky children.

Jesse turned, too tired to puzzle out the riddle and frankly, as long as she wasn’t going to alert the authorities or, God forbid, go chew out whoever his ‘boss’ was supposed to be, he was fine with leaving it a mystery.

Hanzo didn’t turn, however, and remained staring stoically at the doctor. Grabbing one of his beefy forearms, Jesse tugged gently, “C’mon. We’re done.”

“Hm.” Despite grunting in affirmation, Hanzo stood still for a few more moments before finally following Jesse. Muffled, the bells tinkled merrily as the door closed behind them.

They had left the car unlocked, so Jesse slipped right in. Despite being in the doctor’s for at least an hour, the seats were considerably cooler; they no longer tried to cook Jesse from rare to well done. He leaned heavily into the plush comfort and took off his hat, eyes focusing on the roof. Hanzo climbed in too, and together they sat in silence. An unspoken question hung between them.

“What did she say?” The nice leather wheel squeaked below Hanzo’s hands as it was wrung.

“Thought I was in the gang. Told me t’tell my boss she said not to send us there anymore.”

“And?” 

Sighing, Jesse closed his eyes, “Told her I wasn’t in the gang no more.” He waited for the inevitable second question, the one he had been dreading.

It came without fail. “Did she believe you?”

Oh but it’d be too simple if she had. Too clean. Opening his eyes again, Jesse ran through their conversation, scrutinizing each look and word. 

Even after swallowing, a dryness stayed firmly in his throat, forcing him to whisper, “Dunno.”

“Fuck!” Hanzo exclaimed, the heel of his palm nailing the wheel. The wheel, having been jostled, started the gyropods again, secondary power booting up in the vehicle.

Fuck indeed. A tense silence fell between them. Glancing at Hanzo revealed the man staring at the wheel with such intensity one’d think it was revealing the damn secrets of the universe. Every cog and gear was turning. Grim reality had to be faced. 

But he was too exhausted, too worn out. After damn near a week of running, after being caught and tortured, Jesse didn’t have it in him to be more than a tired, broken man. This time, his throat wasn’t nearly as dry, but he still whispered, “No.”

A look of pain washed over Hanzo’s face, his eyebrows furrowing as his head bowed, “We  _ must _ face this. There is a high possibility that she could compromise us.”

“No, Hanzo.” Sterner this time, Jesse watched as Hanzo seemed to transform.

Anger sparked in his normally warm brown eyes, burning as he shouted, “Do you think I want to? Do you think I want to go in and kill an old woman? No. But I will not,” He emphasized the following words, chipping them out of his vocal chords before hurling them at Jesse, “Let. Them. Take. You. Again!”

The dash booted up, the holographic BMW symbol morphing into the friendly german shepherd. 

_ “Please press your thumb against the ignition to start the vehicle.” _

Inappropriately, the song lyrics to The Clash’s ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ sang in his mind: 

> _ Should I stay or should I go now? (yo me enfrio o lo soplo) _
> 
> _ Should I stay or should I go now? (yo me enfrio o lo soplo) _
> 
> _ If I go there will be trouble (si me voy va a haber peligro) _
> 
> _ And if I stay it will be double (si me quedo sera el doble) _

Intermingled in was the doctor’s last cryptic statement, finally starting to make sense:  _ ‘For his sake, I hope you are.’ _

Without saying anything, Jesse pressed the button to raise his seat. There was no way he was going to take this argument lying down.

Reyes had taught him, by example, that being louder wasn’t the way to win when arguing with someone. Sometimes, the calmer, even keel voice held power. He looked at Hanzo, his expression unreadable, and blandly asked, “You think I want them to get you either?”

“No.” Hanzo seemed to reign in his anger, his composure returning if only slightly, “Of course not. But it is a risk.”

“All right. So what we do is drive, dump this car, get a rental, and drive until we’re far gone from this place.”

Hanzo grit his teeth, his jaw working as he chewed on his words silently. “It is not unreasonable, but we need to contact Overwatch; The sooner the better. It is our mission---”

“Fuck the mission!” Well, even-keeled for as long as he could keep it so. The change in tone pushed Hanzo back as if he had been physically struck. Jesse swallowed down the rest of his anger, his voice now a thunder low growl, “Fuck the mission and  _ fuck _ Overwatch. I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout that. We’ve been through hell and back for this goddamn mission. One hour; Five hours - a call in won’t make a damn difference.

“And frankly, I ain’t gonna let you go in there and kill some innocent woman. You live with enough guilt. I won’t.” Emotion broke his voice. Suddenly, Jesse had to swallow around lump lodged in his throat, “I  _ won’t _ let you do that to yourself, Hanzo Shimada.”

Tension gathered between them, snapping in the air with each flick of Hanzo’s eyes as they danced across Jesse’s face. 

Funny how their first fight and now their worst fight would come while sitting in a car. 

Jesse reached out a hand, palm up, letting it hover halfway between them. Never once did he break eye contact.

Trembling, Hanzo’s hand reached out and rested in his. While the journey was shaky its grip, however, was firm and strong.

Moments later, the car pulled away from the little doctor’s office. 

Their hands still held.

 

\----

 

The next city was called Amencer, but long before they reached it, their car was dumped in a ditch. Jesse destroyed the computer by fanning Peacekeeper’s hammer. It shattered and sparked, but quickly died. No data, no trace they’d ever even been there. Just another broken down car left to bleach in the sun.

Truly, city was pushing what Amanecer was. It was more a pitstop. Two dusty red pumps sat in front of squat mart with mustard yellow walls. Hunger hadn’t been an issue before, but stepping inside he realized it’d been a long time since he had anything but electromina and faith to fill his stomach. They grabbed water bottles, a few bags of chips and crackers, jerky, and at Jesse’s insistence, two bottles of tamarind flavored Jarritos. At the checkout, he grabbed a pack of cigarillos. Not the brand he usually smoked, but in a pinch, they’d do.

Loaded with what would pass for food, they made it to the only other place in town - a combination hotel, rental, and diner. Blessedly, the rental was an automatic system, meaning they didn’t have to explain why Jesse had so many bruises on his face, and why Hanzo looked like he was running on fumes and a prayer.

One hour drive later, they ended up in a city thirty miles outside of Dorado proper - Maracuya. Other than the signage (and lack of McDonalds), it was hard to tell that they were anywhere but some small south Texas town. Most of the homes they passed were either squat one stories or mobile homes, and neither sported grass. Just small dry shrubs and the occasional thin tree. Hard packed dirt was the landscaping of choice.

Their trip had been one of silence, but now seeing Hanzo look a little bewildered and perhaps alarmed, he couldn’t help but grin and ask, “Surprised, darlin’?”

“Somewhat. I have only been to Dorado and I assumed…”

Humming a note, Jesse nodded in understanding, “Most folks only see Dorado or Mexico City. After both were destroyed, they got rebuilt in the style you saw in Dorado. There’s ‘burbs like this in both places, but you gotta look close and go out of your way t’find ‘em.”

It looked like Hanzo wanted to say something, but Jesse found himself disappointed when nothing more came of it. Ever present in the background was that fight, the yelling, and gesturing. 

Closer to the Dorado side of the city they found a motel. The whole thing was shaped like a horseshoe, with a wide center row flanked by parking spots numbered for each room.  The center of the horseshoe was dominated by a solitary building with open windows and a large sign that stated ‘MOSTRADOR’. Unlike the earthy or solitary tones, most of the other buildings sported, the hotel featured whitewashed walls and dark terracotta roofing.

Pulling into a spot, Hanzo stopped the car and sighed deeply. Once more, Jesse thought his partner would strike up a conversation, but the suffocating silence kept. Hanzo climbed out first and approached the trunk, likely grabbing their saddlebags.

Would it keep being like this? Their first fight had blown over pretty easy, mostly because they  _ had _ to act in front of John, but it never seemed to weigh on them like it did now. Jesse worried over it, running the events of the start of their mission in his mind, as he climbed out of the car.

They stepped through the open double door into the dusty, warm office. A man sat at the front desk, tapping idly at his computer. To his right, an antique desk fan buzzed, blowing warm air around the room with each lazy sweep. Behind him, a small flat screen displayed a telenovela, one Jesse didn’t recognize.

_ “Can I help you?” _ It must have been odd to find travelers this far out. Maracuya wasn’t what one would call the usual tourist destination.

_ “Yeah, need to rent a room for a week.” _

_ “No problem. Single or double?” _

There was no hesitation as Jesse responded,  _ “Single. Do you have any with a kitchen in it?” _

_ “We do. Is that what you want?” _ He looked up and Jesse nodded.  _ “Excellent. What’s your name? Also that’ll be 2,000 credits.” _

Jesse handed over the credit chip and offered the man a broad grin,  _ “Mr. and Mr. Morricone.” _

The card was charged and handed back to Jesse along with two room keys with the number nine written on them in black ink. Leaving the front desk felt like a relief, the air fresher and not getting shoved down his throat. 

They walked side by side, heading towards room number nine, perfectly in step. Jesse had never met another man, or any person, who fit him the way Hanzo did. They didn’t always agree, and they often ended up butting heads, but there was a surety there that felt stronger than a relationship built on lies and minced words. A friendship that grew and flourished when neither of them tried to be more than who they were. 

“You know,” Hanzo waited beside him as he opened up the door to the room, “My Spanish might be rusty, but I am almost positive you checked this room out to Mr. and Mr. Morricone.”

“Yeah?” Jesse stepped inside the room - a single queen-sized bed took up the bulk. To the immediate left was a tiny fridge and a single burner. A pot and pan sat on the counter near it. Other than that, there were two doors - one, Jesse assumed, to the bathroom and the other the closet. Much like the rest of the hotel, it had white walls and blue accents. There as also a proper AC in there, to Jesse’s immense delight.

“We don’t have to use that anymore, you know.” 

Jesse stopped moving, welded in place by the weight of the words. That’s right. They didn’t, really. At least not the whole ‘together’ part. And what Jesse had said was beyond fiancés and now married. Turning, he didn’t register the twinkle in Hanzo’s eyes, or the slight turn on his lips. Fatigue and the remnants of the torture shaded everything.

“Fuck, darlin’ I’m sorry. I can go and request a different room if you want.”

“Jesse, it’s fine.” The sternness of the words centered him again. Hanzo continued slowly, “It would be more suspicious to get a new room. Now, why don’t you take a shower first?”

Under normal circumstances, Jesse would have balked at being talked down to like that, but right now the suggestion felt right.

Grunting, he drug himself towards the closed door, and found his prediction to be right. Like the rest of the room, it was mostly white with blue accents. The toilet was small and crammed right against the sink. A mirror, one of those medicine cabinet types, reflected his worn, beat up face. The nanites left in his system made him bloat, a red puffiness to his cheeks and under eyes that were unbecoming, to say the least.  _ I look like hell. _

On the opposite side of the sink and toilet was a standup shower. It looked terribly old; rust surrounded the two chipped water knobs. It was also one of those stationary shower heads. Groaning, he scrubbed a hand across his face. Damn thing meant he’d have to hunch over to get water in his hair. The downside to being tall.

A knock on the door broke his bellyaching. “Jesse?” Hanzo’s voice was muffled, but even then he could hear the worry that clouded it, “Is everything all right?”

“Yep! Just… Aches an’ such.” Blessedly, his partner didn’t offer to provide help. Sighing in relief, Jesse began to undress.

What they didn’t tell folks about nanites, since most didn’t  _ need _ them in large doses, was how they made you feel afterward. The body wasn’t made to heal quickly. Time was a luxury humans were afforded and nanites were a fast forward button Mother Nature never intended. 

From a small cupboard, Jesse retrieved a washcloth and towel. The towel was set on the edge of the sink. From the medicine cabinet, he retrieved a square hunk of soap. It smelled fresh but plain. It’d have to do. Sighing, he started the water and waited until it was warm on his wrist before stepping in.

Nanites caused fluid buildup and fatigue. It was the fluid build-up that really got people fucked up. Swelling, tenderness, fever, and rashes were associated with heavy nanite use. You needed lots of water to literally flush them from your body. Jesse lathered a cloth and began to scrub himself off in quick, efficient swipes. Blackwatch had taught him how to get clean without wasting water or time. Five-minute showers, after being covered in viscera and God knew what else, were a test of planning and strategy. Soap burns were the punishment for a job done poorly.

It was a good skill for times like these, when standing felt like running a marathon. Blood swirled in the drain below him, mixed with dirt and suds. In moments, he was clean and climbing out. It was only partway through drying he realized his folly - there were no clean clothes.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he peeked open the door to find the hotel room empty. Senses on alert, Jesse approached the bags laid on the bed and found peacekeeper, setting it aside in view, before digging around to find a clean pair of boxers. It was a struggle to get them on, the fatigue settling on him like a lead cloak, but finally Jesse was decent. He even managed to slip on a t-shirt, one he hoped was relatively clean.

Just in time for the door to open. He drew Peacekeeper in a flash, the world slowing to a crawl as Hanzo stepped through the door and stopped short, staring at the pistol and its holder with a look of wonder and shock.

Deflating, Jesse all but crumpled onto the bed with a weary sigh, “Fucks sake Han…”

“My apologies.” Jesse heard the door shut and the shuffle of steps. A cool, large hand rubbed the back of his neck. It felt so immensely good that he could only groan in appreciation, “I assumed you would take longer in the shower. I went to purchase some food from the vending machines and water, as well as check our surroundings.”

Jesse turned his head and muttered, “It’s alright. Ain’t your fault.”

“I’m going to take my shower now. Please try to eat some of the food. Also, drink two of the bottles of water.” 

Hanzo’s directions made a small, bent smile crossed his face. Cracking open an eye, he caught sight of his partner’s serious frown. “All right, sugar. I can do that that. No problemo.”

He didn’t bother moving until the bathroom door closed behind Hanzo. Shuffling to a sitting position, he spotted the bag of food at the end of the bed. 

Jesse sat straightlegged, with his back against the headboard. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it would have to do for now. Once settled, he peeked inside the bag and found two heated trays as well as two soup ‘pods’ and several bottles of water. The heated trays offered  _ ‘Enchilada Especial’ _ or ‘ _ Chile Rojo PuercoTamales’ _ . Neither sounded particularly nice, so he inspected the soup pods instead.

They were the size of a 16 oz. water bottle, with the top looking like a simple screw top. Jesse looked at each:  _ ‘Pollo Arroz Sopa’ _ or ‘ _ Posole’ _ . He grabbed the second and twisted the cap. A soft buzz started, and after a few seconds the lid popped. Taking it off, he fished out the spoon on the underside. It was small and bent in half, made of cheap plastic, but it would get the job done. 

Jesse finished the soup; it was bland and the chunks of meat might have been pork, but it wasn’t terrible. Truthfully, he’d had much worse. Opening one of the bottles, he gulped it down in one go and dropped both containers back into the plastic bag. 

He still had chips left from the first stop, and so he opened them and munched idly while sipping on another bottle of water. He was mostly done with the bag by the time the bathroom door opened.

“I thought you would be asleep.” Hanzo stood in the middle of the bathroom doorway, a pair of Jesse’s boxers hanging low on his hips. A sinful snatch of black hair, creeping from below the boxer’s band, caught his eye. It was entirely unfair that someone could look so  _ damn _ good. McCree became immediately aware of the chip crumbs on his lap and the dust on his fingers.

Wiping his mouth off, he stood and dusted off his shirt furiously, the crumbs dropping to the floor, “Yeah, did too.” He turned in time to see Hanzo likewise turn before casually rubbing the towel hanging around his neck into his hair. Every muscle rippled with the movements, the sculpture of scar marked skin moving like water. Suddenly, his mouth was very dry and whatever he meant to say next fell out of his brain promptly.

Hanzo slipped on a borrowed t-shirt and turned towards him, an eyebrow arched; but when it was clear Jesse wasn’t saying anything more, Hanzo just looked away. Once more, the silence fell between them, heavy and oppressing.

_ It can keep going on like this. _ “Hanzo, look, I’m… I’m sorry.”

At least it got him to stop. Hanzo turned and scrutinized Jesse’s face, searching for something. Fuck all if it didn’t seem like that search was for dishonesty. Cold, painful fear sucked any warmth from Jesse.

“For what?” Hanzo’s question broke up some of the ice chilling his soul, but not much.

“For yellin’ at you back there. You’ve been silent and I can tell I hurt ya.”

While still drying his hair, Hanzo’s movements slowed. Biting his tongue, Jesse waited for a response. All the while, the quiet added to the dread suffocating him. It dribbled like sand in an hourglass - steadily burying him whole.

When Hanzo finally spoke, it was with a softness that Jesse had never heard before. Facing away, it was easy to imagine the man standing before him was ten, twenty years younger. “You’re wrong. You did not hurt me. It is just…” His voice trailed off, but Jesse held his tongue, swallowing the urge to profess his offenses. After a deep sigh, Hanzo continued, “No one has ever cared about me like that.”

What? Jesse might not know the full history of Hanzo and Genji’s childhood, but he knew that there were servants and tutors and bodyguards. There were so many eyes watching those kids; the exact opposite of how Jesse had grown up.

“I was raised as an assassin. It was my job to kill people. My first kill left me shattered inside, and all anyone said was it would get easier.” Shrugging one shoulder, Hanzo turned and climbed onto the bed. His back rested against the headboard with his feet stretched out in front of him, “And now, after what I did to Genji, the fact  _ anyone _ would care about my mental well being still seems so absurd.”

Mirroring Hanzo’s sitting position left little room between them. Their shoulders brushed, the contact sending sparks of heat across Jesse’s flesh. “You’re my friend, Hanzo. Of course I care ‘bout that.”

“I worry we made the wrong choice; that we are in danger.”

“Well, ain’t no way of knowin’ that. We just gotta buy enough groceries to last us at least a week and hunker down here. Keep off the radar as much as we can.”

Hunker down. The anxiety that had lain dormant woke, the rattle of its tail shaking in the pit of his stomach. Now was the time to continue their conversation, but Jesse was getting cold feet. Talking about the past didn’t make it better, didn’t change it, and sure as hell didn’t change the future. Just a waste of time and air.

Licking his lips, Jesse swallowed down a lump and tried to speak, “Hey uh…” Fuck. He’d caught Hanzo’s attention, but already the anxiety was clogging his throat, choking him to silence.

“Yes?”

Jesse dropped his gaze for a moment and worked up the courage. When he finally looked back up, he carefully searched Hanzo’s face before speaking. “I said once we were settled I’d tell you more about my past.” 

Before he could continue, he was paralyzed by his companion’s steady stare. Hanzo turned partially and scrutinized McCree’s face. Two emotions battled inside him: one was annoyance and the other embarrassment. 

“If you are doing this as repayment: don’t. I told you what I did because I wanted to, not because it would get you to talk.” Hanzo’s words left him at a loss. 

“O-of course I knew that!” He sputtered and grasped at the loose ends of thoughts, “I want to, Hanzo. If you’ll let me.”

It seemed for a moment that his partner would say no, but instead, the tightness in Hanzo’s shoulders relaxed as he nodded.

Hanzo took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and then promptly settled them in the slim space between their thighs. It was almost like tying a knot in a frayed and broken rope. A nervous laugh spilled from Jesse in gurgling pops, lips twitching as they were caught between a frown and a smile. No, tying a broken rope made it weaker. This was a lifeline; an anchor.

_ I’m here. I intend to stay here. _

_ Trust me. _

It was the single most romantic gesture Jesse McCree had ever experienced in his life.

“Well, guess you know some of it, with my dad and mama. Everything changed the summer I turned eleven.

“June seventeenth. She went out to a convenience store near our place. They were held up and well, her being who she was, she tried to stop ‘em. They shot her as they left. Just some gang passing through, decided to roll a store as they traveled.”

He kept back the days of endless sorrow and anger. There was a whole month he didn’t leave the house, too afraid that a man stood just out of sight with a gun. Without her there, he became little and scared again. Or maybe, he hadn’t been brave to begin with.

Sucking in a breath, he cleared his throat and glanced at the ceiling. Tears stung his lower lids, “When school started, they noticed I was different right off. So, they sent me to a school counselor for a while.”

 

\-----

 

Her name was Emily Margot. She was in her early twenties, always wore sapphire earrings, and smelled like vanilla and sunshine. Jesse swore she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen; aside from his Mama of course.

They sent him there when it was clear something was deeply wrong with Jesse. The trauma of his mother’s violent death, they figured. 

For weeks they sat together, playing games and chatting. It took time, but eventually, he opened up. He told her about his fears, about his life at home.

Home had changed. No longer able to roam as he pleased, Dad stayed put. He drank like a fish, cursed like a muleskinner, and smoked like a chimney. Jesse constantly had the reek of cheap cigarettes in his clothes. The old man barely paid him attention, leaving Jesse to primarily fend for himself. There were food and clean clothes, but it was Jesse picking up empty bottles and cans and cigarette butts. It was Jesse preparing things to eat and grocery shopping. 

“Does he hit you?” She asked when a big bruise showed up on his arm. 

“No.” He was shoved and hit the table. It wasn’t a hit.

What had been lost with Mama came in the form of Miss Margot. For months they talked. Turned out his fears were anxiety driven, but Dad didn’t want him on medication. Their hands tied, they could only teach him methods for coping, for dealing with the bouts of paranoia and anxiety.

But all good things came to an end.

It was a particularly tight month for food. They were scraping the cheapest things they could - often flash-frozen meals of questionable meat and low-grade veggies. It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to a chicken dinner and then threw it in a bag. Tasted like it too.

There was, of course, enough money for Dad to smoke and drink as he pleased. He picked at his meal, an empty beer beside a brand new open one. The ashtray on the table held a smoldering cig. 

“You shouldn’t smoke and drink so much.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Jesse knew in the pit of his stomach he’d fucked up. There was a tightness that gathered at the corner of Dad’s eyes, the steely flash as they narrowed down on him.

“What makes you think you can tell me shit, boy?”

“I mean I… Miss Margot was sayin’ they weren’t healthy for ya and…”

He scoffed, flipping the hand he held with the fork in the air as if batting away the words, “Your damn counselor don’t know shit. A man drinks. A man smokes. ‘Sides, it’s my money. I’ll buy what I want, when I want.”

Jesse took a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest gathering. He stared intensely at the sloppy meal, poking at a hunk of chicken meat.

“You understand, boy?” Dad growled.

“Yes.”

“Yes  _ what? _ ” Steel sharpness sang in those words; a promise of violence at the edge of the horizon. The bruise on his arm throbbed gently. Jesse covered it with his hand and tucked into himself.

_ Does he ever hit you? _ Not directly. Pushing. Flicking. Slapping. Never a fist. Never too hard. If it was hard, it was an accident. Swallowing down the bile of fear in his throat, he looked up at his glowering father and whispered, “Yes sir.”

Grunting, the man stood, grabbed the ashtray and beer, and stomped away to sit in the living room. Jesse stood, the tension around him palpable to the touch. Whatever appetite he might have had was done for, and so he didn’t lament throwing away the rest of the slop into the garbage. The forks were set in the sink to be washed later. There was homework and a lot of breathing exercises. Besides, the weight of angry eyes bored into his back. He felt like a lit match hanging over a pile of gunpowder; one wrong move, one wrong sound, one wrong  _ look _ and it could all just got off.

For a moment, as he passed the living room, Jesse felt relieved; it was over, Dad was satisfied and he was going to make it to his bedroom.

“You ain’t gonna see that dumb bitch again. Uppity people like her don’t get it, son; She’ll take you away from me. You don’t want that, do ya?”

Jesse’s step faltered. The blow hurt worse, given he wasn’t prepared. Tears stung his eyes as he continued walking, not wanting to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Yet another person ripped from his life.

“N-no. I don’t.”

Because even if he was scared, and it felt like walking on eggshells to be around his dad, his dad was the only family Jesse had left. The fear of losing someone so integral to his life was all consuming. 

Dad was better than nothing.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, and it took some time for Jesse to fall asleep that night.

\-----

“They never talked about abuse in school?” Hanzo’s question paused his story. 

Jesse shook his head and swallowed down a lump, “They did, but… It’s so easy when you’re in it to excuse it. I was a kid, I lost one of my parents; Even imagining losing another one and being thrust into the unknown…” He puffed out a soft sigh, “It was too fuckin’ much, Hanzo.”

A contemplative silence settled onto their shoulders. The weight of his words hung around Jesse, making the exhaustion he had felt even more acute. Pressing the heel of his palm against his eye, he rubbed at it.

Hanzo took his hand back, leaving Jesse’s cold, but just for a moment. The heavyweight around his back made him open his eyes and blink away the spots in his vision. Gently, as if Jesse was going to break, Hanzo brought them closer together. 

The gunslinger, the one with a sixty million bounty, pillowed his cheek upon Hanzo’s shoulder. In that moment, he could recall nothing feeling softer than that muscle. The hand that had been holding his was in his hair now, stroking the back of his head in slow, gentle sweeps.

“After that, Dad started leaving for short periods of time. Few days at most. Left me credits to buy food.”

\----

He learned quickly how to budget and make by with less. It wasn’t the lack of funds that lead Jesse to stand in the convenience store aisle, sweating bullets as he gazed over the candy. His fingers twitched. No one was else was shopping and the cashier was too busy playing with his phone.

Each pack hung on a hook like bait, and Jesse was the fish. Colors, bright and popping, stood out in bold patterns. Popper Rockers, Sour Dragons, Sizzling Crispies, and Spicy Coyotes. The last one called out to him. Mama used to buy them at least once a month, no matter how tight the budget was.

However, the budget had never been this tight, and Jesse wasn’t the only one who noticed. It wasn’t like a weight was being lost, nor was Jesse breaking out in pimples or sallow skin from malnourishment. It was the innocuous brown sack he brought to school every day.

Lunches used to be pretty nice. Mama made him nice sandwiches, cold tacos, green chile and beans and rice, carrot sticks, apple slices; anything that sounded delicious. Once she was gone, it fell on Jesse to fend for himself. The small repertoire he had for cooking was narrowed even further until all he was left with was peanut butter sandwiches and water.

Now that the others in his class knew of the lackluster food, it became a source of teasing. He was poor, he smelled bad, he was hairy, he was this and he was that. The brown paper sack became a focal point. They made a production of what would come out of it, and groan or boo when it was the same thing: Sandwich, water bottle.

_ “Look, tomorrow everyone is gonna bring a brown sack lunch.” _ The richest kid in their class, Oliver, lorded over them. What Jesse wouldn’t give to sock that kid in the mouth.  _ “And if you have a pack of Sour Dragons we won’t make fun of you.” _

There was no money for candy, but with a five finger discount, it was suddenly affordable. Nibbling his lower lip, Jesse swiped the candy and shoved it into his pants pocket. The cashier never looked up.

After that point, stealing became a staple for Jesse. Candy, pop, chips, and gum. Simple, small things. But those didn’t really help the house out. It was hard to steal big items, things that had to be bought with credits. Those credits dwindled ever steadily, sucked up by the constant purchase of beer and cigarettes.

The first time Jesse stole a pack of cigarettes, he almost ran out of the store. Fear nipped at his heels for days, sure that the local liquor and smoke shop owner would beat on their door. It never came. Instead, Jesse started a new chapter in his life.

It was through stealing smokes and beer that he met the Deadlocks. His skills caught their attention and well, it was so insanely simple to fall for them. They were kind, attentive, and most of all friendly. They gave Jesse a support he sorely missed.

John and Walt were his older brothers now. Abby his older sister. There was Emanuel - around his age. Carmen and Karen were both nice enough. As soon as Jesse fell below their wing, people treated him nicer.

\-----

“Cultivated me from a young age. Ain’t that odd.”

“I am… confused,” Hanzo confessed, the frown clear in his voice, “you told me previously you joined Deadlock at fourteen?”

“Yeah, as a full member. But before that, I was sort of… I guess an intern? A free agent? Just some snot-nosed kid with good sticky fingers.”

\-----

Dad began to work away from home in longer stretches as Jesse aged. Even when he was home, the space of parent was never filled. No. That man wasn’t born to raise children. If anything he was like an overbearing roommate.

His time in school decreasing had a perfect correlation with time spent with Deadlock members. There was always something better, cooler, more fun to enjoy than rotting in the crumbling concrete classrooms. Sure, teachers called and asked, but either his Dad was absent or simply didn't care. Told Jesse to stop cutting class. Threatened to hit him, and sometimes did, but it changed nothing. If anything, it drove him further into Deadlock’s arms.

The day he turned fourteen was a cold and lonely one. Dad was gone for the time being, off to some new job in a different city. No cake, no card, no presents were to be had. Jesse stared at the ceiling of his room and made a decision.

Packing up his clothes, taking what money he had, and gathering anything sentimental, Jesse left his childhood home for the final time. There were gang holdouts further away from the public. As long as he stayed off the radar, he would be just fine. 

Fourteen and in the arms of the Deadlocks for life. His new family.

The very next year came the special program, offered to a few select members. Mechanical implants connecting to your brain. Of course, Jesse asked to join, and he was allowed on the condition that he move from reserve to active duty. He jumped on the chance.

\-----

“Once I got enough clearance in Blackwatch I looked into the tech. Real experimental, dangerous shit. Every company or program claiming to offer the implants was fake - shell companies. Took a few years but eventually, I learned that my eye was made by Talon.” It stung in its socket, throbbing its acknowledgment. “They react to folks differently.”

A contemplative silence fell between them. Hanzo still kept him close, a welcome relief to the long story and past he’d dug through. The loneliness of those days struck a deep chord in Jesse. Even roaming and being an outlaw as he had for years didn’t break the utter  _ need _ to belong to a group. It was that need that pushed him to Overwatch’s recall.

“Why don’t you rest?” Hanzo offered. That did sound good, considering how exhausting talking about this was. Sighing, he nodded and slipped from the warm arms around him. Instead, he laid down on the bed and within moments his eyes closed.

Sleep was dark and swaddling, so consuming he wasn’t aware of how much time had passed. When he awoke, he found Hanzo sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey there.”

Hanzo grunted a soft acknowledgment. Perhaps, if he had been paying better attention, he’d notice the strands of reluctance woven in Hanzo’s tone. As it was, his friend’s words only made the blood rush and throb in his ears.

“I was able to contact Overwatch.” Hanzo explained, “They will be here in two days time. It’s late, we can rest today and do our things tomorrow.”

Pain laced through him, a hollow sadness settling over Jesse like a cold mantle. Their make-believe, their pretending, now had an expiration date.


	16. Beauty in Simplicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: shot-gunning, internalized transphobia, vivid description of trans genitals, sex

The Dosier wasn’t on his person anymore, but Hanzo could recall some rough details: Light undercover work, use of codenames when in an establishment, recently engaged fianc é s. The risk was medium to high, depending on what they found out. They were to treat the mission with sensitivity and discretion.

Which usually meant  _ not  _ standing on the back of a shopping cart and riding it like a chariot.

Or perhaps there was something lost in translation because Jesse McCree had absolutely no issue riding the rickety shopping cart. His laughter punctuated the air with childlike glee as he zoomed through the wide and (mostly) empty aisles of  _ EL SOL SUPERMERCADO. _

Jesse stumbled to a halt at the end of an aisle. He turned to Hanzo, cheeks rosy red and smile brilliant, with a triumphant fist pump, “Don’t care how old I get; just can’t resist ridin’ ‘em.”

“You’re ridiculous.” A vicious headache started to pound behind Hanzo’s eyes. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, “We’re supposed to be ---.”

“On a vacation.” A warm hand settled upon his shoulder, “Sugar you’re gonna give yourself a stroke with how much you fret. Clearly,  _ I’m _ the one who breaks you outta your shell in this relationship.”

“And I,” Hanzo retorted, “am the one who keeps you from getting arrested or kicked out.”

Despite the frustration, Hanzo felt, hearing Jesse laugh so carelessly filled him with a sense of peace and joy. A minuscule smile twitched upon his lips. Magically, the headache began to lift. 

Turning back to the cart, Jesse whistled and pushed it along. For now, the wild chariot riding was over.

_ EL SOL SUPERMERCADO _ had colorful signs and a green checkered floor. The tiles, much like everything in the building, were rough and old, but serviceable. It was clean, but a tang of nickley dirt hung in the air. Even the best cleaners could not fully banish the desert. It crept in on sighs of wind and swishes of clothing. 

Hanzo could not fault them. Hanamura always smelled of wet leaves and fragrant earth. To a foreigner, they might think the city dirty or rotting. For Jesse, who always smelled a little like dust and wild, he fit in perfectly.

“Here we go, just want I needed.” He stopped in front of a shelf and grabbed a sizable bag. The writing on the front declared the contents as  _ ‘frijoles pintos’ _ . Jesse dropped them into the cart, making it rattle and bounce. “Now, it should be close… Ah-ha!”

From two shelves up and to the left, Jesse grabbed a large, semi-clear bag of grains. This one said ‘ _ Arroz’ _ , but Hanzo didn’t need a translation for the contents. 

Snorting softly, he stepped closer moments after the rice was added to the cart. “Beans and rice?”

“Yep. Grew up on it as a kid. We didn’t make a bunch of credits, so we got assistance.” Jesse started off again, wheeling to the end of the aisle and taking a turn to head down another, “Keeps good, somewhat easy to make, can be added to just about anything, and it’s a superfood combo.”

This aisle was filled with baking supplies and seasoning. Hanzo couldn’t read the labels, but the pictures on some made it clear what they were: Garlic, dried cilantro, chile piquin, salt, pepper, and just about anything else. 

McCree perused the shelves like a veteran chef; each and every spice was critically examined before being dropped into the basket. Hanzo expected a few but watched in slightly horrified amusement as six became seven and seven became eight. Normally he’d suggest they stop there, but his desire to speak was little. Jesse, for some reason, was whistling.

It was a forlorn, far away tune, something that reminded Hanzo of the dunes he watched at the start of their mission. Despite it being years since he had touched a violin or piano, he could tell the notes were in a major key. Possibly C or D Flat? And the tempo was fast. What was throwing Hanzo off was how choppy it was. One moment, he felt the tickle of recognition right at the front of his forehead, but the next moment it slipped away as the notes died.

 He’d watched the movie once, a long long time ago. Why Hanzo could not recall. Perhaps it was the only thing on? No. It came to him slowly.

For the most part, he kept away from Jesse McCree and the rest of Overwatch in the beginning. Until insomnia found them together. It was one of those rare moments at the start, where Jesse had given up sleep before him and was watching a movie.  _ “Wanna join me?” _

From there on, their friendship bloomed.

“The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly theme song.”

Jesse turned to Hanzo with wide eyes and lips still puckered from whistling. Like the sun peeking from the horizon, a smile crept up on his face until it shone, “Well shit, Shimada. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“It is hard to forget,” Hanzo hedged. Blessedly, Jesse let him, only giving him a knowing smile before motioning to follow. That was the first of many nights. Sometimes it was movies or television shows. Sometimes they played a board game or cards. Other times they drank in silence, nursing their demons. Loneliness, what once had seemed just another part of Hanzo’s existence, eased. 

Their basket now contained a veritable spice rack of seasonings and a weeks worth of pinto beans and rice. “Jesse?” having caught the others attention, he stopped and turned to look at Hanzo, “Do they sell canned tuna and mayonnaise here?”

Jesse scratched at his beard and hummed, “Reckon they do. Why?”

Pushing the cart around the stationary cowboy, he reached up and shoved Jesse’s had down over his eyes. The utterly indignant squawk and spluttering Jesse made was so worth it. Laughing, he turned the corner and moved to the next aisle, “I can’t have you cooking every meal, cowboy.”

“Now hold on!” The rapid clack of cowboy boots on the tile chased after the cart. Hanzo had to bite his lower lip to still the wicked smile growing on his face. Suddenly, his partner was back and standing in front of the cart, his hands woven between the metal squares to hold it still, “Who said you get t’cook?”

Snorting, Hanzo folded his arms across his chest, “I believe I did.”

“Huh.” McCree pushed the brim up the hat up with a thumb and stared him down. Only the sparkle in his amber eyes dulled the threat. “I’ll let ya, but on one condition.”

_ We’re fighting --- well pretending to fight--- over who gets to cook. _ It took much more willpower than expected to swallow down his laughter, “All right. What condition is that, McCree?”

Removing his metal hand from the cart, he patted it a few times, making the basket bounce and jangle, “Gotta take a ride on this ‘ere mighty steed.”

There was no way to top the bark of laughter that exploded out of Hanzo, “Let me get this straight. You want me to ride on the back of the shopping cart. If I do, then and only then you’ll let me cook?”

“Yep.”

A few days ago, the internal struggle between being the man his family had raised and the man he told Abby he was had been tough. Now? Now it was merely a passing thought:  _ Is this appropriate? _

Hanzo placed one foot on the back of the cart and flashed his best shit-eating grin at Jesse. Perhaps hell was freezing over; it certainly looked it from the way his friend was gaping, mouth working silently over words.

_ Who gives a fuck if it’s appropriate. _

One shove with his other prosthetic and the rickety cart was sailing down the aisle. 

Excitement flooded every inch of him like a tidal wave of light. Hanzo’s laughter trailed behind him like the tails of a kite. 

Dangling from those tails were the frantic tapping of boots on tiles and a startled, “Hanzo!”

At the end of the aisle (it came entirely too soon) Hanzo put a foot down and stumbled to a stop. Jesse was there again, grabbing the cart to help guide it from crashing into a shelf. A fit of giggles had them both bent over the cart.

Jesse recovered first, his voice mixed with soft bursts of chuckles, “What in the -- I didn’t think you’d do it.”

Straightening up, Hanzo took a deep breath and imagined himself stone. Slowly, his expression and body language stiffened into a serious repose. “Never challenge a Shimada and expect to win. Now…” a crack in his rock armor came in the form of a tiny smirk, “where is the tuna and mayo?”

He’d learn in a moment; right then, Hanzo’s answer was a crash of lips against his own and a wicked smile. 

\----

The outside walkway of the hotel complex was relatively clean and completely devoid of people. Besides looking from the windows or staring from the manager's office, there was no way to watch Hanzo - the road further away moved quickly, and any building beyond that was a mix of residential and commercial buildings. Setting up there would be difficult.

Hanzo strolled casually along the lower level until he reached the single staircase going up. Halfway, he paused and placed a discrete camera in the junction of the upper floor walkway and the stairwell wall. After a moment, the camo-tech rippled like water and it was perfectly hidden, blending into the wall.

The second-floor landing was a wide berth of concrete that gave a decent snipers nest vantage on some of the other buildings nearby. Besides the tactical advantage, recreationally it was a smokers spot - an old metal table was pushed into one corner along with a smattering of mismatched seats around it. An ashtray on top, cleaned of any cigarette butts. The scent of smoke hung heavy and stale in the air, however. It wasn’t possible for him to discreetly place anything here right now, but he kept it in mind for when Jesse went out and took a smoke break.

Another camera was placed near a plant five doors door from their room. Hanzo did not stop walking, flicking it out and watching in his periphery that it landed as intended and then vanished. 

_ Not a very big net, but enough of a warning that we’ll be ready and armed. _

At their room, he took out his key and unlocked the door before locking it again. Three times he did this, jiggling the handle the whole while. Finally, it opened when he kicked the bottom of the door gently. To someone observing, it would seem he was having an issue with a particularly stubborn lock, and not an abstract code signal.

Hanzo stepped back into their room and was greeted with the warm, savory salty smell of beans boiling away at a low temperature. Jesse stood in front of the stand-alone burner, humming some light song. Glancing up, he grinned at Hanzo and jerked his jaw up in greeting as the door closed behind him.

“Anything?”

“No.” Carefully, Hanzo pulled out Peacekeeper and approached the small table in the room. It was cluttered with a few spices and the opened pack of pinto beans, along with two shiny and new holo-tablets. The bullets were unloaded from the cylinder, though there was likely one still chambered. For that, Hanzo ensured the safety was on before setting the gun down. Taking a seat, he grabbed one of the holo-tablets and began to work. “Everything is clear outside. No obvious signs we’ve been followed. I was able to set up two cameras”

“Good. Hopefully, it’ll stay that way.” Jesse sighed and twisted the knob on the boiling beans until they settled into a soft murmur. 

Their groceries were enough to easily last the two days before pick up. Hell, they could last them a week. The dry staples, fresh veggies and fruit, canned meat, and seasoning seemed more fit for someone making their first pantry in a new home than waiting out for help to arrive. Truthfully, Hanzo could not fault Jesse. It was always hit and miss with airlifts - it depended on many factors outside of either of their hands.

Along with the food, they had picked up an extra burner, two new pots, a cutting board, and a set of knives. The supplies left to them were rusted or covered in unknown, dubious substances, so they unanimously agreed to buy new. Then there was the surveillance equipment as well as the tablets. That was definitely not in line with a honeymooning couple, but they could not risk being exposed. 

After a few more taps and loading, two camera feeds burst to life - one a bit clogged by leaves and the other of the empty stairwell. Besides that, a miniature blue lined map showed a radius of a few feet around the sensor - a pulsing camera. Hanzo clicked stairwell camera and armed it to set off an alarm if anyone came into its proximity. With that all done, he set the tablet down and stood.

Along with the scent of beans came the sharp, acidic burst of onion. Hanzo stepped closer. Jesse was chopping half of it in even quick slices - it wasn’t the first time he’d seen the cowboy in the kitchen, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the juxtaposition. A rough, trail-worn man making delicate even cuts and creating delicious meals. Chuckling softly, he stepped closer to Jesse’s back.

Standing on his tiptoes, Hanzo pressed his weight into McCree’s back and placed a chin over his shoulder and an arm around his chest. The body against his own was warm and firm. It curved nicely to him, like a glove made to fit. A hunger that had nothing to do with beans or onions boiled in the pit of his stomach.

“Well hello there shug.” Jesse’s rumbling tenor vibrated in his chest. Sighing softly, Hanzo buried his nose into the mess of soft hair near him. A mix of cigarillo, sweat, and something distinctly Jesse greeted him. The man he was leaning against stilled minutely. “Do you need something?”

“No, no. I was simply thinking how you would clearly be the chef in our relationship.” Now that earned an honest laugh from Jesse. It rolled through Hanzo, making him grin brightly. 

He resumed chopping before speaking, “Guessin’ you’re right. But you’re the one washing all the dishes.”

Scoffing in indignation, Hanzo retorted, “If I’m doing all the dishes, then you’re the one killing the bugs.”

“Cruel and unreasonable punishment!” Jesse howled and banged his metal hand against the counter, the pot and cutting board rattling. “All right, guess that’s fair… Then you’re gonna be the one handlin’ the finances.”

“For the best. I ran a criminal empire, after all; I know how finances work. You, on the other hand, can’t seem to stay out of the red.”

Jesse half turned, his eyes wide and mouth ajar in a mock look of offense, “You wound me, darlin’!”

“Laundry,” came the grave reply. “You’ll be on laundry duty, then. It will be scheduled, though. There’s been more than once one of your blankets looked dirty.”

“Now I know you’re joshin’ me; You know those are serapes. Dunno if I should do the laundry, though.” Jesse looked back to the onion, resuming his work, “Never had t’wash silk and all your finery.”

Unbidden, the image of Jesse dressed in nothing but a silk robe floated in Hanzo’s mind. What a  _ beautiful _ sight that would be. “You would learn, or I guess we would go without underwear.”

It had been meant in jest; just a playful comment, but the energy around them changed dramatically. It charged with heat and power Hanzo knew all too well. Unconsciously, his arm tightened around Jesse’s middle. Slowly, carefully, Jesse spoke, “Didn’t know you wore underwear.”

“Well yes, I have to because…” His words faltered, trailing off to nothing. Jesse  _ knew _ , but he didn’t  _ know _ the full extent of Hanzo’s body. Even then, there were backward thoughts that if one did not have every possible surgery they were fake.  _ Jesse’s not like that. He’s kind and he… He is your friend. _ “I need something to help hold the packer in place.”

Jesse hummed softly but didn't say more. Once more the panic rose, a bitter cold tide that sucked in Hanzo. This was the moment, the bit of information that pushed Jesse too far. Despite the way anxiety made him numb and sapped away his energy, he kept holding on. This could be the final time they were close, and he wanted to savor the feeling. Right before Hanzo could pull back, Jesse finally spoke. “You know, I’m surprised.”

“By… What?” Confusion colored Hanzo’s voice.

“That they got balls big ‘nough for ya, Shimada.”

_ Of course. Of course. _ Relief and laughter swept through Hanzo. He gave a friendly shove to Jesse’s shoulders and stepped back. Immediately, the lack of contact cooled some of the heat in him, but it was still there, waiting to be rekindled. 

Done now with chopping, Jesse pushed the board back and turned towards Hanzo, “Thinkin’ about taking a smoke while this boils. Wanna join me?”

“Certainly. I need to place a sensor there.”

Two more cameras were placed inside the room, one near the door and one on the far side of the room in the corner. Once they were outside, Hanzo armed them both. It was overly paranoid, but he would rather be safe than sorry.

It wasn’t a cool day by any means, but now in the late afternoon, it was cooling down. Softer, muted colors stood out along the buildings. Shadows grew deeper and more purple as the light waned. 

Jesse took a seat on top of the table and pulled out a cigarillo. Hanzo paid him little mind, hearing and not seeing the cap snipped. A camera was carefully placed at the foot of the table, giving them a decent radius. As that was done, the mechanical striking of a lighter being flicked filled the air, until it caught.

McCree always seemed to have a cigarillo in his mouth, but rarely did Hanzo catch him starting a brand new one. He nursed the other ones over long periods of time, far longer than any cigarette Hanzo had during his youth.

The man sat almost in a meditative state and twirled the thin cigarillo near the flame of his lighter, but not on it. Mesmerized, Hanzo took a seat beside him and watched as it began to self-combust. Once it was smoldering, Jesse took a few slow puffs and looked at the cigarillo, examining it for some trait before blowing on it and humming. “Not quite.” And then, again, it was put near the flame.

Jesse took another draw, this one looking even slower than the last two. Seeing it, watching the way his lips wrapped around it and pulled, returned the heat to Hanzo’s core. It wasn’t helped when Jesse released the smoke with a sinful groan. “Oh fuck… Been a long time since I had one ‘round here.”

With a mouth alternating between dry and watering, Hanzo had to swallow more than once to find his voice again. “Around here?”

“Yeah, humidity and shit change how they taste and how they behave.” Jesse held the smoldering cigarillo in front of them. Lazy curls of grey smoke danced in the air. “I grew up here, Hanzo. This taste, this reaction it’s… Fuck it’s so good.” He laughed a splash of red on his cheeks. 

“May I try?” 

“You smoke?” Jesse raised an eyebrow and held out the cigarillo.

Taking it, Hanzo inspected the outer wrapper and then the end. It was tightly packed, and the warm smell of clove and cinnamon danced in the air with the tobacco. Placing it to his lips, Hanzo drew slow and steady, using only his cheeks and tongue. The smoke sat heavy against his tongue, filling his mouth with cool, gentle flavors. Glancing to McCree, he pushed a little out through his nose before opening his mouth and dispelling the rest.

What an excellent cool moment it would have been, if not for the sudden burst of coughing that wracked him and sent him doubling over. Jesse warm laughter cooled any embarrassment, and the hand on his back helped. “Been some time, huh?”

“Yes I… I have not had one in many years,” Hanzo explained and sat up once more, “Usually it is quick cigarettes if I need some sort of calming agent.”

“I hear ya.” Hanzo watched enviously as Jesse took another slow draw of the smoke. It had tasted wonderful, but being so out of practice, he didn’t dare go for another hit. As if reading his mind, McCree’s wicked smirk told him something troubling was about to happen. “Want some more, Hanny?”

Incling his chin, he nodded, “Certainly.”

Jesse took another pull, slow and full and then turned to Hanzo. Immediately, his heart leaped as the cigarillo was pulled away from Jesse’s mouth, but the smoke remained.

A hand on the back of his head guided him closer. With parted lips, he took in the smoke Jesse exhaled. Sweet clove and cinnamon rolled across his tongue, cool and warm from a different mouth. A moment, a second, of breathing someone else's air.

“It’s good.” Hanzo whispered. Once more the heat was burning him alive. Every inch vibrated for more. An ache churned his stomach. Their noses brushed together and the distinct scratch of beards brushing together sent snaps of electricity over him. “Another.”

Once more, Jesse drew. This time, the delay was shorter, given how close they were. The smoke came and went with the wind, but something else joined it. Lips and tongue. A slow, sensual kiss that tasted of their shared smoke. The tobacco had done its job; any anxiety Hanzo had felt was floating away as something else took its place.

He laced his hand into Jesse’s hair, anchoring him there, as the warm slow pull of lips turned desperate. He licked into Jesse’s mouth, tasting him, feeling the need snap. No longer content to simmer, it roared to life. 

McCree pulled back first, gasping for air, his voice a strained mess, “Room.”

They tumbled back into their room, more a mess of limbs than two separate people. Hanzo had enough foresight to disarm their alarms before stepping in, saving the two from being scared out of their wits.

While pinto beans had never seemed an aphrodisiac before, they weren’t breaking the heat gnawing in him. He had a moment to think before his back was against the cold door and a hot body was against his. Their mouths met again, insistent and pushing. Pulling on his lip, feeling the burn of their beards rub together. Hanzo swallowed the soft sigh of his partner and canted his hips up when a knee pressed against his crotch.

Excitement pooled in him, burning brightly across every part of Hanzo. It had been so long since someone had  _ wanted _ him. It had been so very long since he trusted another to be this close. Now time compressed, weighing on his lust and driving it ever higher. 

“Bed.” Hanzo gave a halfhearted push, his smirk deliriously bright. It gave his partner a start, but it was patched with a warm laugh.

“Bed.” Jesse agreed.

Hanzo stripped quickly, his shirt dropped to the ground and then his pants kicked off to the side. Before he could wiggle more off, Jesse was manhandling him to the bed.

The springs squeaked as their weight dropped onto the old mattress. Hanzo’s skin crawled as it touched the rough sheets. The weight of the gunslinger between his thighs was heaven, grounding him (and grinding into him) to earth.

How many fantasies had he had of this? Too many. But no dream could emulate the beard on his neck, or the lips sucking at his skin, or the teeth scraping and nipping. Hanzo moaned, arching into the touches and grinding his packer into himself. 

“You’re good. You’re so fuckin’ good, Hanzo.” Jesse was muttering breathless praises like a madman. He wiggled lower and as he did, Hanzo propped himself up on his elbows to watch, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he hissed softly in excitement. McCree pressed his lips to one of Hanzo’s nipples, his thumb pinching and rubbing the other.

For Hanzo… He felt little. It was more the sight of Jesse doing this than the physical reactions, that were arousing. The soft warm wet of a tongue did earn a shiver, but...  “Uhm…”

Pausing his ministration, Jesse looked up at him with a quizzical frown, “What’s wrong, sweet pea?”

“I don’t have much feeling there. The mastectomy reduces sensation. Some men and women get it back, but most don’t.” Hanzo shrugged one shoulder sheepishly, a faint blush burning his cheeks.

“Oh.” McCree comically looked down at the shiny wet nipple and chuckled awkwardly, one Hanzo matched. “Shit. Sorry, Han. I had no idea.”

“It’s fine. But if you kept going, I would not react how you expected. I…. Did not want you to think it was your fault.”

McCree’s smile was soft and warm. He absentmindedly stroked Hanzo’s stomach with his flesh fingers, doodling nonsense patterns, “Thoughtful. Lord, you’re the full package. All right, no nipples.” Jesse looked down at the body below him like an architect to a blueprint, “So, what do ya like, sugar? I wanna please you.”

“What about yourself?” Hanzo frowned deeply and shifted on the bed. Jesse’s bulk pinned him in, like a human security blanket. “This is not just about  _ me _ , you know.”

Snorting, Jesse scooted onto his knees with a gentle grunt. Hanzo’s arms, until that moment, were on either side of his body. Jesse captured one of his hands an drew it towards Jesse, to touch his stomach. Below the softness firm muscle could be felt. Hair tickled his fingertips. Tantalizingly slow, his hand was lead down a dark trail of hair to where Jesse’s boxers were strained. The heat and weight hidden behind thin material promised so much more and made Hanzo moan. “Trust me,” Jesse whispered in a sultry tone. His hips hitched as Hanzo stroked him, “I’m gettin’ a lot outta this to. But I know you… Your gun needs a little warmin’ up.”

That had to be the most awkward and yet adorable way Hanzo had ever heard someone refer to his genitals. Laughing, he nodded and took his hand from Jesse’s boxers. Instead, he cupped the sweet man’s face. And for a moment, they smiled at one another, basking in the fact this was happening.  _ Radiant like the sun; I love him. _

“So please, tell me what I can do for ya.”

Hanzo took a breath and shifted again, “I am.. Unsure. Most  _ pistol _ owners are uhm….”

“Quickdraws?” Jesse asked with a cheeky grin.

Chuckling, he nodded, “Quickdraws. They are interested in firing and leaving.”

“Sweetheart, I’m the real deal; an honest t’God Gunslinger.” Jesse leaned in, chasing Hanzo as he laid back into the bed. Jesse’s metal arm laid above Hanzo’s head, allowing Jesse to look down at him, to encapsulate his vision. Every inch was captured by the bulk and heat and presence of the man. It was simply perfect. “ And a Gunslinger takes care of his weapons.”

“Foolish man.” He whispered it, so filled with fondness, it only made his partner wink.

“Fool for you.”

Snorting, Hanzo rubbed his chest, feeling the chest hair once more on his fingertips, “Don’t start with the pickup lines again Mc--- Oh.” Unnoticed, Jesse had reached down with his other hand and was cupping the packer. It was a nice gel one, not his usual pack and play, but a basic. Feeling it ground and rubbed into him was heaven. Shuddering, he bucked up into the hand.

“Feels so real.” 

“If you think that,” Hanzo grunted as his eyes fluttered shut, “You’ll love my better one.”

“Yeah?” Jesse let up on the grinding, now feeling around the packer.

“It sticks better and it… Can get erect.”

Jesse’s whistle seemed out of place, but perfectly fine, “Damn sugar. Well… I gotta say, I’ve wanted to suck your cock since I first saw ya. Packers or not.”

Hanzo’s breathing hitched. He searched Jesse’s face for a lie but found only an earnest desire. “And now?” Grabbing his underwear, he wiggled it down, revealing the hot flesh to the cool air. Above him, Jesse sighed softly, almost reverently.

“Hasn’t changed one damn bit.” With the underwear down at his thighs, the packer was easier to see. A simple cock and balls, gel-based to feel realistic. Jesse reached down and stroked the dick with his two fingers and thumb before pulling it away completely.

Hanzo pinched his eyes shut and looked away. Anxiety coiled in his chest, drawing him from the moment.  _ Damn my body. _  He felt, more than saw, rough calloused fingers brushed against his lower lips. 

“Lookin’ a little tense, Hanzo.” McCree’s voice was kind and gentle, enough that it almost burst the bubble of tension rising in him. Still, the fingers stroked, moving and swirling around him, rising to his clit to rub, and then moving down again. They spread apart his folds with steady practiced carresses. It felt good, even with the tension locking his muscles. Heat rolled in the background, like a boiling pot of water that had a lid clamped on it. “Talk to me, Hanny.”

“It’s been a very… Long time and…”

“And…?” The ministrations stopped. 

“I’m… I’m not sure.” Hanzo gritted his teeth, annoyed at himself. When alone he was fine playing with himself, it didn’t bother him, but somehow  _ now _ it was anything but fine. Where this had come from he didn’t know, but it was there in the center of his chest. A worry so deep it felt like quicksand, sucking everything in without hope for survival. 

Except Hanzo wasn’t alone; He had McCree. “You’re beautiful, Hanzo.”

Such a simple statement jarred him, making him open his eyes. He was greeted with a serious, stern stare. “So beautiful. Let me help you feel that. Please.”

Trust.

He could only breath as the words settled in and sunk below his skin. They made room in his heart and coaxed out a small, affirmative nod.

Slow kissed trailed across his skin, down his stomach to where his garden lay. Hanzo looked away, focusing instead on the sensation. The rough brush of beard against him was heaven, it burned in a way he never knew he needed. At first, besides the brush of hair, there was nothing. And then, soft and light, like a butterfly catching the wind, it started.

Warm and soft, petting and tasting. Jesse took what his body was making and enjoyed it - if the groans and grunts of pleasure were anything to go by. Nibbles, teeth on him in a sensitive, gentle way. Gasping, Hanzo arched, but could not move his thighs apart. They seemed frozen, locked tight by that same unknown force that hounded him with worry.

“Sugar, let me have more. You taste so good, cheesy as that is to say.” They both had a soft laugh about that, though Hanzo’s ended up an awkward grunt. When Hanzo didn’t move, Jesse shifted to sitting up again. “Hanzo? Look at me, please.”

Sighing, he gave in. Jesse rubbed one of his knees, a concerned frown again on his face. “Do you wanna stop? It’s all right. I’ve got a perfectly good hand and a bathroom. I can take care of myself.”

“No, no. I don’t. It’s just…” Shifting, he sat up and ran a hand through his hair, “Every sexual encounter I’ve had has been a fling. Get in, get out. I didn’t care what they saw or didn’t see. But this is not like that. You’re my friend, someone I care for ---”

“Care for you too.” Jesse softly interjected.

“--- But I hate my body. I hate the stretch marks and scars. And instead of a quick fuck, you’re… Gods, I don’t know what you’re doing Jesse, but it’s wonderful and terrifying.”

“I’m loving you.”

Such a simple statement. It shattered Hanzo as he waited for the other shoe to drop. For it to be said this was a game. But it never came. 

“ _Oh_.” Hanzo reached out, cupping the soft face of his best friend, his lover, and drew him in. The kiss they shared was so different now. Warm and sweet where before it had been fire and fury. 

“Now, Mr. Shimada,” Jesse murmured, their lips barely apart, “let me make love to you.”

The trail of kisses down his body changed from petals to bonfires. Hanzo let himself sink into it, to feel it fully. His body, the cold wet on him, warmed below a soft warm tongue. A fire grew within his core and Jesse stoked it with tender movements and careful exploration.

The first finger in made him grunt, the force of it knocking any lingering worry away. No. This was Jesse, the man he had fallen for months ago, worshipping what he could not stand. With tenderness and care, he was transforming parts of Hanzo that had been a curse into something not just to be tolerated, but liked.  _ Enjoyed. _

Two fingers and the pulse of the fire roared, slithering through his veins, tingling in his toes. The bed creaked with the rock of Hanzo’s body, his soft broken moans gaining in volume. It was as loud as a gunshot and yet quiet. Through his haze, Hanzo could hear the soft grunts and snorts his lover made, feasting on him. The bed was not rocking just for him, he realized. Jesse was rutting onto the mattress. He was getting off on pleasuring Hanzo.

Jesse bent his fingers, pressing just right, and the bonfire in him burst. With a cry, Hanzo arched and squeezed the fingers, as his body desperately tried to drag them deeper inside himself. The pulse of gold pleasure tingled through every pore, sang in his quivering muscles and sweating frame. 

Slowly, the fingers left and the mouth retreated as Hanzo floated back to Earth. For the first time he looked; Jesse’s red lips were swollen and shiny with spit and his own come. A shudder of possessiveness rolled over him. Noticing that Hanzo was looking, he gave him a fond smile and helped push his legs up. Hanzo knew that the long stretch marks on his thighs were visible now.

“You taste so good. I could eat you all day.” Soft, wet kisses trailed along the marks on his body. Hanzo shivered. “All of you is perfect and wonderful, Hanzo. Most gorgeous man I ever did meet.”

“Don’t push it, cowboy,” he grumbled, voice wavering, in good nature. 

Shaking his head, Jesse rubbed his hand along a stretch mark, his fingers pressing into the line. Hanzo couldn’t help the whine that slipped out now. “You don’t like these?”

“No. They’re ugly. A reminder of…” Of being someone different. Of Being the daughter of the clan, a woman, not who he was.

Jesse nodded and pressed a kiss to another one, “Do you hate your other scars?”

“Not… Particularly.” Hanzo hesitated on the answer, frowning at his new lover. Why wasn’t Jesse chomping at the bit to mount him? Why was he hesitating? Hanzo was willing and able, and yet here he was kissing at his thighs, waxing poetic. “Did you lose your erection?”

Laughing, Jesse hid his face against the inside of Hanzo’s thigh, “No, Hanny. I just… I want you to love all of you. That’s all. I see ya and I see perfection. I want you to be totally comfortable.”

It was intensely, overwhelmingly sweet. Hanzo did what he only could in the moment, “And I love the idea of your cock in me. Hurry along, Jesse.”

Chuckling, Jesse nodded and slipped off his underwear. Uncut, the cock rested heavily against his thigh. Hanzo’s heart rate picked up again, a fire lighting against in his core. Between his thighs, Hanzo watched as Jesse used his own come and juices to lube himself. “Is it all right without a rubber?”

“Yes,” Hanzo breathed as his impatience grew.

“All right.” That was the only warning he got. Jesse was… much bigger than two fingers. The burn and stretch of it left Hanzo arching. Like doors being opened to a part of himself he had forgotten, a new ache and desire emerged. 

The bed squeaked softly with each slow, explorative thrust. There was no rush here, no frantic need tog et off and get away. Hanzo could enjoy himself, and enjoy his partner. It was a luxury so treasured he almost feared he would wake up.

Hanzo focused on the slide, the burn, the way he took Jesse in and clung with every fiber of his being. Their bodies were pressed together, the rough brush of chest hair on him adding yet another layer of sensation. It scratched against his skin and burned down to his thighs. Jesse’s metal prosthetic was pressed into the bed behind him, while his other hand explored, grabbed, and stroked whatever it could. Hanzo’s wrapped around him, one on his back and the other in Jesse’s hair. Soft panting in his ear, with rumbled praises and warm promises. 

“You know…” Hanzo could barely pick up the words. They seemed to be spoken, but also burned into him; woven into his cells. “Those marks… Show ya survived.

“You wouldn’t say a butterfly is ugly, just cause it got cut up leaving the chrysalis, right? Nah, you’d think that butterfly… was strong. Was more beautiful for it.”

Tears sprang to his eyes as a soft sob broke from Hanzo. He clutched onto Jesse harder as his movements grew frantic, as the pace shifted. 

They kissed desperately, the urgent need to feel and touch stronger than before. Teeth met his lower lip and Hanzo moaned. Two hands grabbed his hips, holding him tight as if he’d disappear. Maybe he would. The fire roaring inside could burn him to a crisp, stoked higher and higher by the quickening thrusts. Their breathing labored and loud, filled the space.

There was another sound too. So soft it was almost impossible to hear.

But he did. Hanzo caught it once.

Jesse whispering, hissing under his breath,  _ “Hanzo.” _

This time the burst of pleasure was stronger, rolling out of him with a scream. Distantly, he heard a soft groan of ecstasy from his partner.

Slowly, the bed stopped squeaking, the skin on skin slaps and wet squelches gone. Only panting, gasping, breathing and sharing the air between them. That, and the soft sound of beans boiling in the background.

It was painfully, blissfully domestic in a way Hanzo never though he could have in his life. But here he was. Jesse smiled and kissed his nose before pulling out with a soft hiss. “Just lay still. I’ll clean ya up.”

Staring at the ugly, popcorn ceiling, Hanzo tried to make sense of what he was feeling. Gone was the usual shame of his body that usually came after sex. Banished was the feeling of ugliness, of darkness, that clung to him when naked. All that was left was a feeling of light, of caring. It could not last. Sex was not some magical cure-all, but…

Jesse returned with a warm rag and started to wipe Hanzo up. He shivered, over sensitive and maybe a little repulsed by what was left behind. But it was the tender care Jesse was giving him that Hanzo focused on.

No. Sex was not a magical cure-all, but sometimes a little (or a lot of) love could be the medicine one needed.

McCree climbed into bed with him. Two arms wrapped around Hanzo, pulling him in close. Jesse pressed a kiss to the side of his head and they lay like that, resting in the quiet moments. In that warm embrace, Hanzo fell asleep, contented.


	17. Blackfish P.1

A deep cobalt sea had flooded into the hotel room. Through a small crack in the ratty curtains, the final rays of sunlight were dying. Soft pink gave to gentle royal blue and finally a primitive dark purple. Dusk had settled its mantle over the world, and especially there in the cocoon of warmth and safety. Jesse blinked open his eyes and groaned. It was hot in there, muggy, and smelled of pinto beans.

For some reason his right arm was numb, and when he shifted, he knew why. Curled against his chest was a sleeping Hanzo. There was a peace on his face that took Jesse’s breath away. Gone were the creases that sat between his eyebrows. Gone were the frown lines that tugged down his lips. Wiped away by sleep were the years of hard knocks and a permanent scowl. It left a thick lump in his throat that Jesse struggled to swallow down. Leaning closer, he feathered a kiss to Hanzo’s forehead.

Extricating his arm was a delicate procedure; if Hanzo was anything like himself, then sleep was a fickle mistress whose magic was a thin barrier easily popped by the slightest sound of movement. This time, though, her spell held. Jesse was able to crawl out of bed without causing too much noise of disturbance. Free of the bed and the perils therein, he entered their small bathroom to relieve himself.

He fully expected to find Hanzo awake once he left the bathroom, but instead found his partner curled up tight in the middle of the bed. The blankets that had been shared were now nestled around him like a cocoon. Jesse bit back a snort as he eyed the soft bundle with open fondness. If none of this had woken Hanzo, then the fella had to be damn near dead tired. Sure, Jesse was also exhausted, but he’d had a chance to rest here or there. Meanwhile, his rescuer had been going on and on without much reprieve.

With all the skill his previous black ops training had given, Jesse crept across the room to the small table in the corner. There, the security tablet lay. He turned himself so the light of the screen wouldn’t hit Hanzo directly. Flicking it on, he was almost immediately blinded. It was dim in the room, and even on the lowest setting, the screen’s harsh light was a punch directly to the corneas. Wincing, Jesse jerked his head away and blinked spots from his eyes. “C’mon brain, wake up…” he grumbled to himself, annoyed that he’d made such an amateurish mistake.

When Jesse could look and not fear permanent eye damage, he took time to scrub through each camera feed. Nothing out of the ordinary happened - as a matter of fact, it seemed dead quiet. If it weren’t for the Camera 3, and how it caught the lights of cars driving along the road near the motel, Jesse could have believed they were all alone. Two survivors to some apocalypse. It was, unfortunately, a reality. 

Tucking grim theories of the world ending away for another sleepless night, Jesse rose and finally attended to the smell that had swamped the room. The beans had been boiling for who knew how long. Maybe a few hours? Opening the lid, he found them to be fine; though the water was low. 

The domesticity of it all snuck up and sucked the energy from Jesse. Maybe, he reasoned, if he remained still then all of this would stay. That the act of stillness would keep them here, safe and sated, forever. 

A pair of firm arms wrapping around his center, and a slab of beefcake against his back broke the longing. Hanzo hummed loudly, his face smooched into the center of Jesse’s shoulder blades.

“Noisy.” Hanzo grumbled with no heat. Well, so much for letting the prince sleep longer. 

“You’re just jumpy.”

Jesse gazed at the two hands around him. They were large and scarred, roughed from years of bow work and assassination. Mercenaries didn’t have time or care for the quality of their skin. On one of Hanzo’s hands, he could see the teeth and maw of the dragon. It coiled up and away out of his line of sight. This little moment in time, a bubble of bliss could pop at any second. 

Might as well be the one to pop it.

“Hanzo?” Jesse waited until he felt the dragon on his back stir, a sleepy little grunt the only noise to confirm he was listening. He’d promised himself that once they escaped the Talon base he would be more open, more honest. If they were gonna have  _ whatever _ this was, it needed to have some solid foundation. Too many good men got laid low by a lack of trust. “What is this?”

Not the most elegant approach, the words charging in full bore instead of delicately broaching the subject. To his relief, Hanzo stiffened but did not pull away. 

“Explain.” said the dragon. 

“Is this… Hanzo I don’t want this t’be a one time deal. I want to be with you.”

This time, the arms did retreat. The cold that replaced Hanzo’s warmth was sharper than any knife, stabbing deeper than any weapon ever could reach. Turning, he expected to find disgust or shame or annoyance on Hanzo’s face; Instead, he found utter confusion.

It was almost comical, the way Hanzo’s face contorted, eyebrows furrowed, mouth working over silent syllables. “I thought… But we… Is this…” Shaking his head violently, Hanzo rubbed his face with a hand. The scowl, Jesse realized, was back in place. “I thought this was something more than a one-off deal. Was I incorrect?”

“No? I mean, I… We didn’t say it explicitly, but I reckon no.”

Groaning, Hanzo shuffled back to their bed and plopped down. Graceful archer, an assassin without peer, controller of ancient dragons: also, at that moment, sprawled out lazily on the mattress, uncaring and curling back into a blanket ball. “Does everything,” Hanzo’s voice was muffled by the covers, “Have to be black and white McCree?”

Turning back to the beans, he mulled the thought over and tested them. They were soft enough, so he flipped off the burner and chewed on each word that came to mind, ripping into every reply.

What was left was pretty simple. “I don’t wanna get hurt, so… Ain’t it better to make it clear?”

When no response came, he expected that Hanzo had fallen asleep. The beans, pot and all, were left on the counter to cool down. They had no containers, an oversight on their part, to store the food; otherwise, Jesse would have used one and shoved the cooked beans in the fridge. As it was, he had to wait. Grumbling, he returned to bed.

Like an oozing gloop monster, Hanzo flung out a pile of blankets and practically sucked Jesse into the cocoon. Chuckling, he felt the firm weight of his friend against him.

“I do not want to be hurt either. Yes, Jesse, we’re together. Partners.”

“Lovers?”

“I believe that works.” Hanzo sniffed at the word but didn’t argue.

“Boyfriend?”

That one earned a slight sneer, “Childish. Are you going to pull my ponytail next?”

“What about my Sweetheart? I could be your Beau.”

“Jesse…” Warning sounded in that sleepy voice, but Jesse was riding a high that ignored all caution.

“Significant Other?”

“Very clinical,” A sighed reply, “But professional. I suppose.”

“What about my Mate?”

Groaning, Hanzo gave his chest a halfhearted slap. Like a button being pressed, it released a torrent of chuckles and giggles from them both. “I am...” Hanzo sat up so he could be seen better, scowling down at the man below him. As best he could, a serious, indignant look colored his face. It was broken by how his lips twitched, fighting back a smile, “I'm not an animal!”

“Nah, you’re a mythical beast. A dragon.” Jesse’s tease was met with a stock still Hanzo. He appeared frozen, shuttered from the world.

Whatever teasing grin had been on his lips faded into something softer, “You like dragon, sugar? I could call you that… You’d be My Dragon.”

It didn’t take much in the beginning to rile up Hanzo. The man had been taking himself so seriously that the slightest affront was seen as a serious offense. It had been months since he’d seen his friend get so wound up or worried over something. And then, with a giant huff like a balloon being popped, Hanzo dropped back down to the bed and curled into Jesse.

“It’s embarrassing and odd. I can only imagine how the others will tease us.”

Ah right… The crew would learn pretty quick. Genji was gonna be a bit of a shit to work out but Jesse figured they’d manage. “Well, it’ll be just for us. Our little secret names. You’ll be My Dragon.”

“Then you…” Hanzo hummed thoughtfully, “Will by My Tumbleweed.”

“Excuse me?” Jesse squawked. Wicked delight flashed in his partner’s eyes.

“You like to roll around in the dirt and are synonymous with the Southwest. I believe it fits you perfectly, Tumbleweed.”

“Well I never…” Not the most elegant nickname, but it was the one his lover had chosen. It was special. In a way, Jesse couldn’t argue the connection. He was just a tumbleweed rolling around the world, carried by the wind. Now, the wind wasn’t lady luck or fate or destiny; it was a big old dragon.

A loud, long yawn filled the room, ending with the smack of lips. He felt a nose nuzzle into his back, and then Hanzo’s muffled voice, “Are the beans done? I’m starv---”

It was cut off as a shrill beeping sound broke apart the moment like a grenade. Every muscle tensed as if a string had been pulled tight. The arms around him briefly held him tighter before loosening. Hanzo shuffled away, the tiredness fading like morning fog burnt by the sun; it could not stand the heat of urgency. 

“Maybe,” Jesse suggested as he fought the growing dread in himself, “It’s just someone comin’ t’check into a room? I mean, we did place ‘em in popular places, Hanners.”

Hanzo was at the tablet when the second alarm went off. It was like the floor broke below Jesse. His stomach flipped and immediately he was reaching for peacekeeper to keep himself grounded. There was nothing to do but wait as the other man scrubbed through the video feed and checked the live camera.

“Whatever it is,” Hanzo whispered softly, “It’s moving rapidly. It’s barely a blip on the feed. No wait…”

Jesse could only helplessly watch as Hanzo squinted at the screen. Another alarm rang, shrill and angry. It caused his heart to leap into his throat, wedged there and refusing to move. “This is impossible.” Hanzo muttered with a sour look bending his face into a deep frown, “It appears to be… two people. One is heavily armored. And the armor it.. Looks like ---”

Three sharp knocks halted their conversation dead in its tracks.

Jesse stopped breathing, growing rigid as he stared at the door like a deer caught in the headlights. As much as he’d argue he wasn’t superstitious, there was a lucky coin riding in his hat, and there were some old sayings that stuck to him no matter how much he’d seen or done. Particularly that ‘three knocks’ meant death.

As if knowing that, they came again. Louder this time.

Fear snaked down Jesse’s spine and coiled in his stomach. The rattle of death vibrated in his bones as another set of three knocks came. He jerked his head to the sliver of the parted curtain that let outside light pour into the room. It was more than wide enough to look through. 

With careful, measured steps, he paced across the floor and pressed his body beside the door in the direction it would swing in. Placing a hand on the handle, he glanced to Hanzo. His partner had grabbed Stormbow and was back at the tablet, crouched down and out of sight.

As quietly as he could, Jesse unlocked the door. Everything around him slowed as he mouthed his activation phrase. One last glance to Hanzo, one last nod, and he held up three fingers.

Three.

Two.

Jesse started to turn the knob.

One.

There was always that second, right after ripping a door open during a breach, where the unknown lurked. Darkness grew darker, light grew lighter. Adrenaline poured into veins and for a second the unknown opened its jaws, ready to take the unwary or unlucky whole.

Jesse pulled the door back at himself. Truthfully they could not have coordinated it any better. As soon as the door was open a margin, Hanzo loosed his arrow and rolled to the side.

A good thing, not because of the gunfire Jesse expected to pour in, but because  _ the arrow _ came flying back with as much deadly speed as it had gone.

That had barely registered when Hanzo’s incredulous shout boomed in the room.

“Genji!?”

A very familiar mechanical voice spoke next, “Yo!”

“Greetings; Peace be upon you.” As well as an even more mechanical, but still familiar voice, spoke.

McCree slowly slumped to the ground, metaphorically shot with a bullet made of relief. Genji and Zenyatta stepped (or floated in the case of Zen), into space.

“What are you  _ doing _ here?” Hanzo demanded.

To which, Jesse followed right on the heels of that question with, “You couldn’t have called?”

Genji cocked his head and shrugged one shoulder, “We’re here to pick you up, of course.” As if that banished all questions, he started to walk around the room and pick up their things. It was Zenyatta who, with a put-upon sigh, clarified the rest.

“My apologies for scaring you. We were worried that movement from Gibraltar would alert Talon to our incoming, and potentially put you in danger. The less calls to or from you, the higher your safety.”

Grunting, Jesse climbed off the ground and dusted off the back of his pants. It was then he realized three things:

  1. He was only wearing pants.
  2. Hanzo was wearing absolutely _nothing._
  3. It _reeked_ of pinto beans and sex. A potpourri that was as incriminating as it was ridiculous.



Looking up, he caught the fearful wide eyes of his companion, seemingly struck at the same time with the realization. Adrenaline had made them ignore their state of dress, but now in front of friends and family, so many damning things rose to the surface.

McCree snatched a blanket from the bed and threw it to Hanzo, who grabbed it and whipped it around his waist as quickly as he could. The only response Genji made was to pick up one of their duffles and give it a shake before making a grunting scoff sound. 

“Didn’t you leave with much more than this?”

“Yeah, lost a lot of our goods,” Jesse replied and watched as Hanzo grabbed the bag from his brother and dug into it, retrieving a fresh pair of clothing. 

“A moment, please.” And then archer, clothes, and blanket scurried into the bathroom. That left Jesse alone with Genji and Zenyatta. The former of whom turned and cocked his head curiously at McCree and crossed his arms over his chest. Even with a metal faceplate covering any expression, Jesse knew that whatever was to come next from his friend would be horribly embarrassing. 

If it were or not, he’d never know. Zenyatta spoke instead in the warm, rolling words of Nepali. Genji stiffened and turned his attention to the omnic and remained silent for a moment after before nodding. “Very well, Master.”

“Thank you, My Student.”

Was it worth asking what had just transpired? McCree squinted at both men, but neither budged. Giving up, he gathered the rest of their meager belongings and finished getting dressed. 

There was just one thing bothering Jesse, a big glaring issue that neither their new guests nor Hanzo were considering. He approached the bean pot and scratched his chin. Casting a glance around proved fruitless.They hadn’t bought containers at the supermarket.

Anxiety started to grab at the edges of his vision, pulling it inward. “Fuck. What’re we gonna do ‘bout these?”

“What do you mean?” Genji’s rattling footsteps approached Jesse, “Leave them.”

No. The reaction was immediate, slamming him full force in the chest. No. Leaving good food like this was simply  _ unthinkable _ . Gritting his teeth, Jesse took a slow breath to calm the rising tide of anxiety and nervousness. It did nothing to help. Logically, he knew it was pointless, ridiculous, and absurd to become distressed over a pot of cooked pinto beans. 

“It’s uh… I mean I’m not…” How could he justify this?

“I cannot believe this… Hanzo!” Genji’s irritation was like a dagger to the gut. Jesse tilted his hat down, shading his eyes. A slow tremor was building on his shoulders.

The bathroom door opened and he heard the footfalls of his companion approach, “Yes?”

“McCree wants to take a pot of pinto beans. Please, talk some sense into him.” What did Gabe tell him back in the day? There was always going to be more food, right? But what if there simply  _ wasn’t _ . He’d spent a few years running and gunning alone, reliving days of eating from cans and scraping by. Childhood memories of tight budgets and poor dinners lined his fears. It stabbed him repeatedly. 

A firm hand squeezed his shoulder, making Jesse suck in a sharp breath. Here it came, the berating and the chiding. A grown man in an emergency situation suddenly incapable of leaving behind a pot of boiled pinto beans. It would be a long, painful joke for weeks, if not months.

“Zenyatta,” Hanzo’s voice was soothing and controlled, “Would you be able to carry the pot? The heat should not affect you, correct?”

What? He looked up for the first time and found Hanzo staring directly at him. They exchanged no words other than a firm squeeze of his shoulder. Relief flooded every vein in Jesse, his breath hitching as he glanced down and away.

That’s right. Hanzo knew how he struggled. 

“I believe that would be fine,” Zenyatta replied and approached the ground. He deftly picked up the pot and tucked it against his chest, “Yes, the heat is not at all dangerous for my frame.”

The rest of the clean up was quick. They left the key to the hotel room in a drop box on the outside of front desk. And then they were gone, moving quietly down the sidewalk and away from the hotel.

No conversation was exchanged, an air of tension hung over them. 

Down an alley, they moved, single file, and came upon a back parking lot. It was filled with a mish-mash of cars and trucks. Most were older models, beaten up and well loved. Frowning deeply, Jesse glanced around - there were plenty of open spots for a sniper, as well as the odd location meant they could be boxed in. “The fuck is this Genji? Are you leading us to an ambush?”

“Ha! Not at all my friend. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

There was a flicker, a shimmer of light that blinked over some of the cars.

And then half of the parking lot faded. Gone from existence. Sucking in a sharp breath, Jesse’s eyes landed on the vehicle left.

It looked like a hovering rectangle with a rounded front piece and a bump on top of its head. One window, the drivers, was blacked out totally. Millions of small inch sized hexagons covered the vehicle like scales.

Jesse took off his hat, excitement and incredulous surprise fighting for dominance, “Well I’ll be… A Beluga.”

“A… What?” Hanzo glanced to Jesse for clarification as they all walked towards the vehicle.

“Well they’re sort of illegal. You can own one, but you need a permit and they hardly give those out.” Jesse stepped closer, and that was when he spotted it - the white circle with a broken red piece on top; a skull overlaid.

Blackwatch.

“Winston,” Genji spoke in a soft voice as he opened one of the hatch doors. It lifted up and away from the body of the Beluga like a wing, “has been holding out on us.”

The interior of the Beluga was spartan. Metal walls, floor, and bucket seats with six-point harnesses. A screen on one end and a narrow opening on the front, where another bucket seat and the controls lay. Sitting in the captain’s chair was their energetic, sunshine in human form, navigator: Lena “Tracer” Oxton.

“Hello loves!” 

Jesse’s anxieties from before lightened immediately, his smile broad and warm as he tipped the hat still held in his hand, “Lena! Haven’t seen you in a hot minute.”

Taking a seat in one of the buckets, he couldn't help but marvel at how familiar and yet different it all felt. A Beluga had been a major part of his life for what felt like eons, and yet seeing it here and now was so odd. Like an old acquaintance.

A splashing sound drew his attention. Zenyatta floated above a little puddle of pinto beans. "It appears I have spilled the beans."

Snorting, McCree felt the remaining tension in himself settle as the monk and Genji sat down. Hanzo took the seat beside him, his head on a swivel. 

"A Beluga... It is an interesting vehicle. The camouflage outside - that was from this?"

"Yep!" Tracer chirped and whirled around. A soft hum rumbled over the vehicle, the door closing down and sealing with a pressurized hiss, "It's got out of this world camouflage abilities. I've never seen anythin' like it!"

"I would be surprised if you had," Jesse responded with a tired smile. They pulled out of the spot and floated effortlessly down the street. 

Hanzo turned in his seat, a deep frown marring his face, "Are we hidden right now?"

"Indeed! We look like a pickup. This thing is so spiffy." Tracer sighed longingly, enthralled by the capabilities of the vehicle. For good reason. They were rare, as he said.

"We also have Dolphins," Genji added in the most nonchalant tone he could muster. Immediately, every muscle in Jesse's back stiffened, his eyes locked now on the cyborg with unbridled intensity. 

Now a Dolphin wasn't something he wanted to ride in, never ever again. Damn things were simply too unnerving. They were helpful, though.

"A... Dolphin? Another vehicle I presume?" Hanzo arched a brow and got comfortable in his seat. He spread his legs and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah they're uh... two man pod. They're programmed to fly about ten or twelve feet in the air. They got pretty good camo and are fast as shit." McCree explained again just what the vehicles were. He'd worked them for years, after all. Over a decade.

"Just..." Jesse trailed off, picking his words carefully. Finding a Beluga was one thing, but having a Dolphin too? That seemed too good to be true, "How'd Winston come across these things?"

Genji chuckled softly, "I was wondering when you would ask, McCree. He found a cache of vehicles. It is where most of the extra Orcas came from. These were kept back for an emergency."

A cache of vehicles? It wasn't like Gabe to simply hide vehicles. Scratching at the back of his head, he glanced at the screen on the back of the Beluga. It showed a truck zipping harmlessly down a road. They slowed and took a turn, going now on dirt and gravel. In the distance rocks, Mesas, stood tall and proud. 

"Were they perhaps taken from Blackwatch's main quarters?" Hanzo filled the silence with a simple question, one that made Jesse chuckle and shake his head.

"You could say that," was Genji's coy response. Something about that rubbed Jesse wrong. Frowning, he glanced at the cyborg.

"We didn't have a main base... We used Overwatch barracks, but if there was some big mission that ---" His words ended in a sharp gasp, his eyes growing wide.

"What?" Hanzo demanded sharply.

"Nah... Can't be.” Licking his lips, Jesse stared at the screen. They were descending down a deeper road.

"Lena?" Genji called, teasing in his tone, "Could you change the camera to face fully forward?"

“Gimme a sec love, need to call in first!” There was the soft sound of static before Lena began to speak again, “Hello loves! This is the SS Lena carrying our precious cargo. Could you open the doors for us?”

“Roger.” came the response. 

“No, it’s Lena.” She teased.

“Keep the coms clear,  _ Oxton. _ ” Even through the radio, Jesse could recognize the gravelly tone of Jack’s voice.

Huffing softly, he could hear Lena mutterunderw her breath, “No fun, that one.” Much louder, she declared, “Right oh! Let’s get the camera fixed… And there! You should be able to see it much better now.”

It came in to view slowly. Into a canyon they drove, flanked on all sides by high rock walls. Overhead, the moon poured silver light down, glinting metal of a large structure. It was mostly rectangular, with the back and front narrowing down to thin points. Multiple arms extended from both sides, and instead of engines or turbines, the hollow wells of grav pods sat. From one side, a large section of metal lay flopped over, instead, the movement of people and lights were seen.

"Blackfish..." Jesse whispered reverently, "But... How?"

"You will have to ask Winston. I am surprised that Talon did not seize it, but I assume they had similar issues to ourselves: It is a very sophisticated machine..."

Yeah. He tore his eyes from the mintor. Staring anymore was likely going to burn his retinas.

Hanzo was giving him an expectant stare, his lip curled into a tight frown. "That," Jesse explained, "is Blackfish, the Blackwatch base of command.”

Eyebrows raised, Hanzo took another, more appreciative look at the vehicle in the monitor. "Clever... a moving command base."

“We didn't use it often. Only if we needed a safe haven. It's a... A flying city, really." Jesse found himself at a loss of words, caught between excited and nervous. Shaking his head, he tried to banish the volumes of memory that worked up from nothing, brushing every single one of his senses. Training, sleeping, hooking up, drinking... Years spent in those halls, with crew and teammates that were now in a terrorist organization.

Sometimes, in the dark of night, Jesse would wonder what it was he had missed: What information did they all have that lead them to that path that McCree didn't have? Fuck, he'd been Reyes' right hand man for years and years until things started going south, when Gabe started to get weird and even he didn't know. Something must've happened, but what it was Jesse hadn't a clue…

"So." Genji's firm word broke his haze of memories. It was then Jesse realized that Hanzo was rubbing his forearm gently. He blinked and gave his partner an appreciative smile, one that was returned in full.

"Ahem. SO." Genji repeated, with much more force. Rolling his eyes, Jesse looked over to him.

"Yes yer highness?" That got a giggle from Hanzo.

"I believe it's been over five minutes, hasn't it Master?" Genji asked. Zenyatta's response was a soft burst of static, what Jesse assumed was a gasp or scoff.

"Genji..." The omnic rumbled in warning. Warning that was completely ignored, as the younger Shimada now turned to them both.

"You and my brother, hmm?" Genji flicked his hand between them, as if connecting them with some invisible thread. "That was unexpected.  Is this a recent development or something you managed to keep hidden"

Red dusted McCree's cheeks, burning to his ears as he shifted uncomfortable. Beside him, Hanzo was holding his face. "Genji I will kill you again."

"Unlikely." Ignoring risks to his safety, Genji soldiered on, "After forcing me to see my brother buck naked I feel you both deserve some retribution."

"You know, if you'd given a call maybe you wouldn't have," Jesse groused.

Genji retorted, “I did not think you would have fucked my brother.”

Of all the issues Jesse expected they faced, Genji wasn’t one of them. His friend had been a close confidant during Blackwatch - surely he’d know that Jesse wouldn't hurt his brother, right? 

“How many times have I walked in on you  _ during _ sex, Genji?” Hanzo’s monotone words clipped his worries. It appeared the other brother could only huff and tap his foot impatiently.

“Worry not.” Zenyatta soothed, “Genji is merely unhappy because he lost the bet.”

“Master!” 

“Ah… It appears I have spilled the beans once more.”

Relief rushed out of Jesse in a burst of laughter, “You were bettin’ on us? Y’little shit!” He took a kick at the cyborg, one that Genji easily dodged, even sitting down, “Made me think you were against this.”

Huffing softly, Genji shook his head. There was a soft hiss and click before the cyborg reached up and removed the faceplate. For the first time in many months, Hanzo didn’t flinch when Genji’s scarred face was revealed. A small burst of pride warmed Jesse’s stomach.

“Of course not,” Without the mask, Genji’s voice was clearer, though still with a mechanical hint, “You are a good man and my friend. I had just not expected my brother to become such a slut in his old age.”

Tsking, Hanzo jabbed a finger in the air at his brother, “You are one to talk, given your past.”

Giving a dramatic sigh, Genji pressed the back of his hand against his forehead and slid slumped down in his bucket seat, “For shame, Anija… To think I believed I would look up to you for morals in these trying times…”

Rolling his eyes, Jesse glanced to his partner, finding the older Shimada biting his lower lip, his cheeks rosy and eyes crinkled at the corners. Barely suppressed laughter shook his shoulders.

A year ago those two could hardly be around one another. A few months later they were making jokes, but Hanzo couldn’t see Genji’s face without shutting down. A few months after that they could share meals together, though Hanzo was still nervous and gun-shy about a few things.

And now, they sat on a transport hurtling towards a meeting that was important enough to push ahead their pickup date.

Genji hummed and ran his fingers through his hair, “Though… Are you two together?”

While that question had been breached privately, Jesse wasn’t sure how Hanzo wanted to handle this. Did he want their relationship public yet? Scratching at his beard, Jesse sighed softly, “Genji, might not be the besta times t’ask such a thing.”

“Why would that be?” It wasn’t Genji who asked, but Hanzo. He shot a concerned frown at Jesse. Christ, had he fucked up already? 

“Don’t tell me you planned on a one-night stand, McCree.” There might have been a playful glint in Genji’s eyes, but the panic that accusation blocked him from noticing.

“What? No! No, not at all,” Jesse raised both hands as if to physically stop the words, “No, I mean… Yes, we are together, it’s just I didn’t know if Hanzo was ready t’go public.”

Snorting, Hanzo shoved his shoulder gently, “Three people is hardly public, Tumbleweed.”

“ _ Tumbleweed _ ?” In typical little brother fashion, Genji made a retching sound, “Disgusting.”

“Well,” It was best to just ignore Genji. Besides, the sullen pout he shot at Jesse was a little victory, “Once the rumor mill gets wind of it, it will be.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hanzo cocked his head to the side, “Rumor mill?”

“And… Sent!” Chirped a voice from the front of the vehicle. All four men turned to see Tracer flash them two finger guns and a wink, “I can’t believe Genji lost! Though I guess if you’re together, he did get some of his money back.”

Grumbling, Jesse rubbed his eyes. A headache was starting to form, “ _ That _ was what I meant by rumor mill.”

But even a headache couldn’t stop his smile when Tracer gave a fake and dramatic gasp. A lot of actors, they all were. “Rumor mill? Me? Lena Oxton does not spread  _ rumors. _ She spreads news.”

“Including,” Zenyatta cut in next, “Who the cutest Overwatch couple is, or that Mei is baking cookies, or the Lucio and Hana have been flirting on stream.”

Laughter traded between them freely, breathing an air of relief in the transport. “Okay, but it’s only  _ good _ rumors,” Lena clarified.

“I’ll give ya that,” Jesse dropped his hand and looked at each person. A sense of family warmed him to the core. These people were vastly different than him, and maybe they didn’t always see eye to eye, but they were family, “You only spread good news.”

Lena practically bounced in her seat, an impish grin on her face, “Yes! The L.N.N is for good vibes  _ only. _ ” 

“L.N.N.?” Hanzo asked.

Scoffing playfully, Lena shook her head as if exasperated, “The Lena News Network, of course!”

He often wondered what their life would be like without people like Lena, Mei, or Lucio. They were truly kind hearted and cheerful, and after days or weeks spent in the field dealing with the darkest parts of humanity, sometimes to return empty handed or in failure, left a fella needing their sincere joy and love. Most of Jesse’s physical wounds were healed or healing, but the mental and emotional ones were still raw. In the light of the merry laughter and banter, he felt himself relax.

He only hoped that Hanzo felt the same, but looking at him laugh and lean into his shoulder, Jesse was pretty sure that was the case.


	18. Blackfish P.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: internment camp allusion/mention

Their Beluga hovered into the opened bay. Hanzo watched the monitor closely, curious about the base that Jesse claimed had been Blackwatch’s command center. To Hanzo’s surprise, it appeared most of the length of the Blackfish was hollow. Docks sat in orderly fashion on either side of a central lane, cut off by bay doors that, presumably, could be opened like the one they drove up to. Many were empty, but a good number contained a smattering of other Belugas and two Orcas, along with a cluster of five or six smaller vehicles that Hanzo guessed were the aforementioned Dolphins. Along with those vehicles, he also spotted Hana’s M.E.K.A along with the young pilot. While her body language was relaxed, she still held her pistol in both hands. 

To the left of their bay door was the dock labeled ‘A1’. Near the far end of it, Hanzo could see two golf carts: standing beside those were Jack and Angela. Hanzo expected their doors to open immediately, but instead, he heard the faint rumbling and watched as the ambient light of the moon was cut off and replaced to the artificial hangar lights hanging from the ceiling.

Hanzo had expected the doors to open immediately, but instead, they remained sitting. Glancing to Genji and Zenyatta showed both men relatively relaxed and comfortable, but Jesse, like himself, was unnerved.

In the monitor he watched as Jack pressed a hand against his ear, likely communicating with someone via headset. Cleverly, he used his other hand to cover his mouth. Not that Hanzo was adept at reading lips, but the action further unsettled him. The feed they were watching could easily be doctored, but to his knowledge, no one in Talon was capable of impersonating someone perfectly, as if they were cloned. Unless this was new technology. Even then, that sounded far-fetched and absurd, but his worry and panic grew stronger, forcing Hanzo to shift restlessly in his seat. He had Stormbow. Jesse had Peacekeeper. Genji had  _ Ryūichi moji _ as well as his  _ Wakizashi _ , Zenyatta had his Orbs of Discord, and no doubt Lena had her Pulse Pistols. 

A gentle squeeze on his leg drug his attention from the rumbling storm clouds in his head. Looking over, he caught Jesse’s soft smile, “It’s alright, sugar. This is all general protocol for disembarking a Beluga.”

Frowning subtly, he shifted full focus to Jesse. Instead of grabbing for his bow, he took his boyfriend's hand and held it loosely, “Explain.”

“Yessir.” Jesse gave him an impish, lopsided grin. From Hanzo’s peripheral, he could see Genji pointing a finger to his open mouth and mimicking a gagging motion. “Beluga are good at intercepting and eliminating radio frequencies. They also can’t really be seen into, for this reason. Means that while we can watch them…”

“They have no way to know it really is us inside…” Hanzo finished, his eyebrows raised high in surprise. Jesse nodded confirmation and gave the hand in his own a squeeze.

“Right ya are, Dragon.”

“ _ Dragon _ ? That’s it. I’m done.” Genji’s incredulous voice only won him a large eye roll from Hanzo. Of course, his little brother was getting back at him. Countless times, Hanzo had reacted the same to pet names Genji’s lovers had used, “Master, please knock me out.”

“As you wish.” Slowly the orbs that bobbed around Zenyatta in a lazy orbit sped up, their humming and light increasing.

“Wait, wait!” Genji held his hands up, waving them in panic, “I’m joking!”

The sound of Jack’s voice silenced their joking. “ _ Remember, hands clear from weapons. First Oxton. then McCree and Hanzo, and finally Genji and Zenyatta. Open it up, Lena.” _

“Roger.” There was a soft hiss as the door depressurized, and then a pop as it unsealed completely, but remained closed. Lena turned in her swivel seat and gave them all a brave smile. She unbuckled her harness, stood up, and stretched with a satisfied groan, “Right-o boys! Remember, hands off weapons. Don’t wancha getting shot.”

The gull-wing door lifted out and away. Through the opening, Hanzo was pleasantly surprised to see a bay that looked identical to the one in the monitor. Though echoing, he could pick out Jack’s voice calling, presumably over coms, “Oxton exiting!”

A chorus of ‘Rogers’ was heard in response, some surprisingly close. Jesse unbuckled himself and stood, and Hanzo followed suit. As soon as he was standing, their hands were reconnected. 

“Should we hold our hands up?” Hanzo whispered. If the agents were worried that they were somehow compromised or someone they were not, then it might be better safe than sorry.

“Nah, that’ll just make ‘em think we’re being held up .” It was then that Hanzo realized he was holding Jesse’s flesh hand, occupying the one that would be used for shooting. He wasn’t sure how well McCree could aim or fire with his prosthetic, but seeing as he never saw the man so much as even practice, Hanzo wagered it wasn’t at all good.

Jesse stepped out first and then Hanzo. The echo of their feet hitting the concrete floor carried in the cavern of the bay. McCree moved slowly but surely. 

“McCree and Hanzo exiting!” Jack called again and the ‘Rogers’ that followed were filled with surprising levels of relief. Angela motioned them to approach the carts. A tired, but fond smile was spread across her lips.

They had made it to the aforementioned carts when Jack called out, “Genji and Zenyatta exiting!” This far into the bay, Hanzo could hear just how many ‘Rogers’ there were. “Clear vehicle.”

Hanzo glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Fareeha approaching the vehicle with a drawn pistol held down, but at the ready. Looking forward again, Hanzo couldn’t help but frown, “Not being able to see into the Belugas seems like quite the security oversight.”

Huffing softly, Jack nodded in agreement. This close he could see the chill blue of the former Strike-Commander’s eyes. “If this hunk of junk was fully functional we could. As it is, Blackfish is running at about three-fourths capacity.”

“Why is that?” They moved to the golf carts now. Jack took the driver seat in one and Angela motioned for the both of them to get in the back of that. She took passenger beside them. On her side was a bag on the floorboards, a field diagnostic med kit that they used on occasion.

The cart started as Jack responded, “It needs passcodes and information we don’t have. Took Zenyatta, Orisa, and Athena the better part of two days to crack it as far as they did. Even then we were worried Athena was gonna fry herself.”

Jesse’s whistle was low and long, “Surprised you could even do that. Blackfish has some pretty strong security.”

Their cart began to travel along the bay, and it was then that Hanzo could fully respect how large it was. Each dock was the length of at least one to one and a half orcas, the doors the same size. And from what he could tell, there were at least seven docks and doors per side. A moving tank, a fortress in the sky. Blackfish was everything Hanzo would expect from a black ops organization funded in part or in whole by the U.N. 

“All right, gentlemen.” Mercy called their attention back to her. She gave them a kind, but professional smile, “I will need both of your hands. Hanzo first.”

He offered to her his right hand. She quickly stripped the archery glove off and wiped it down with an alcohol swab with practiced, efficient swipes. Humming pleasantly, Angela picked up a small packet and shook it vigorously. It popped open with a press of her thumb, then she placed it on the inside of Hanzo’s wrist. The medicine was cold and numbed his skin immediately. “All right, now the unfun part. Just a prick.”

Even knowing it was simply her bedside manner didn’t help the feeling of being coddled curdling in Hanzo’s stomach. A small device, no bigger than his thumb, was pressed against the numbed area. Angela pressed a button on the side and a soft hiss and pop was heard, the sting coming moments later. It remained there for a few seconds before she pulled back and set the little device to the side. A bead of crimson blood welled over the tiny wound before she wiped it away with a new alcohol swab. Golden nanite gel was dabbed over the wound and within seconds it was as if he had never been pricked at all.

Retracting his hand, he could only see Angela’s movements partially, blocked by both the seats and her body. He knew by heart that the device was pulled apart and the small capsule of blood was slid into a rectangular box no bigger than the antique toys called Rubik's cubes. Within moments Angela was humming, her fingers swiping over a holographic projection of numbers and abbreviations that Hanzo could barely make sense of. 

“Your cortisone levels are very high, even for the stress you have been under. As well as your inflammation factor. Your electrolytes are a mess as well. You must be dehydrated. Otherwise, you are normal. Rest and liquids.” Angela sighed in relief and began to shuffle, presumably throwing away the items she had used for his specific test.

“Jesse, you’re next. Hand please.”

“Metal or flesh, Ma’am?”

“Don’t get smart with me, cowboy.”

Hanzo looked to his right and watched the world roll past. The dock they had just driven by was ‘B3’. They weren’t moving quickly, he realized. Why? Was it so Angela could complete the diagnostics? But that could be easily done during their full physical exam. It might be even better, as this was hardly a sterile environment.

_ “Verdammte scheiße!” _ Angela’s sharp curse drug Hanzo from his thoughts, his head snapping back to the doctor. Jesse was rubbing his wrist gingerly, the nanite cream faintly glowing on his skin. “Vat… What in the  _ hell _ happened to you Jesse McCree? Your nanite levels are too high, you show signs of dehydration,  _ and _ your CK-MB and troponin are through the roof! ”

“English, Angela.” Jack gruffly reminded her.

“Your heart has been damaged,” came the grave reply. Hanzo’s heart leaped in sympathy, anxiety rolling over him like a tidal wave. Beside him, he could hear Jesse audibly gulp. “These are just traces, but something has happened to your heart. Something bad. A minor heart attack?”

“Cardiac arrest.” Hanzo sighed and rubbed his face. Silence fell between them all, the sound of the golf cart picking up speed the only audible reaction. The next question, the most obvious one, did not fall as he had expected. Instead, Angela began to pack up her things carefully, as if controlling her curiosity through physical actions.

“I need to know more, but it will wait until I can get a thorough exam,” was her response as she zipped up the bag at her feet. Hanzo caught the Dock number ‘7B’. They were now driving towards two ramps that were separated by a wide, singular column the size of one of the docks. At the very top were wide, open windows - the control tower, Hanzo guessed, for the bay.

A hand rested on his own. Looking to his left he caught McCree’s soft, reassuring smile. Unknowingly, his shoulders loosened and a sense of ease drew back the tide of anxiety. It had been a stressful mission, but it was nearly over. They were safe, safer than they had been that week. They were among friends and family. They were alive.

They had survived.

Hanzo closed his eyes and rested his head on Jesse’s shoulder. A million words swam to his lips, begging to be said. Apologies, thanks, questions, and worries vied for dominance, but none could be communicated. Not yet. Those were pieces meant for privacy, and Hanzo was giving the two in the cart, and whoever else might be watching them, enough of his privacy by leaning into the cowboy. 

“So,” Jesse’s words rumbled against him, “How is this workin’? Exam and debrief.”

“Typically that is how it would go.” Jack’s response was laced with dry ire, “But we don’t have that luxury. Debrief and treatment will happen at the same time.”

Their cart came to a rest, but Hanzo didn’t move. Not just yet. There was shifting as the other two got out and that was finally the prompt for him to pull away. The area they were in was clearly at the top of the ramp. The landing here was about as large as the central column and filled with neat rows of golfcats; eight rows of two. To the left were two sets of open sliding doors showing a row of consoles filled with knobs, buttons, and switches--all powered off. Another set of windows sat between the doors, allowing passersby to see inside easily. To the right was a large open hall. In the center were seating - chairs, tables, and couches were clustered into neat groups meant for conversation or perhaps solitude. On the far side of the seating area was what could only be three sets of elevators.

His eyes remained on the elevators, on the sheen of metal. In the quiet of the room he could feel the walls compress, moving inward, slowly --

_ Whatever happened now, he was at the whims of his captors. The prey willingly walking into the trap. _

_ "Hanzo Shimada." A warped disembodied voice, the same one from Blackwater, purred his name. "I thought it would be harder to capture you...”  _

“Shimada what’s the matter?” Jack’s question broke through. He was standing, and to his surprise and dismay, already halfway to the dreaded elevator. Jesse stood in front, but to the side, of him, a concerned frown on his face. The cool metal of his prosthetic hand brushed against Hanzo’s face, collecting water. Sweat. He was sweating. Even though he knew the hand was touching his face, it seemed to be doing so through a cotton wall. A tingling numbness prickled Hanzo’s skin. 

“Are there stairs?” He asked without thinking.

Snorting, Jack shook his head, “Of course there is, but now isn’t the time to get your steps in. Let’s go.”

_ Move, damn you, move! _

But his legs would not comply. Nothing was complying. Not fingers, not toes, not hands, not feet - they were leaden and uncooperative.  _ Not now. You can’t disassociate right now. Not in the middle of the damn  _ floor _ you fool. Get it together. Find something to ground yourself with. Find… Find… _

But finding was easier than it usually was. The ground came to him, in the form of a solid chest, warm arms, and a woolen, worn in serape. Wrapped in Jesse, he took another startled breath and felt the world slowly worm its way back in. Blinking rapidly, Hanzo clutched onto his lover, his fingers digging into Jesse’s shirt.

“You’re okay, darlin’. Whispered against Hanzo’s hair, “Just take a deep breath and relax.”

He did as instructed, finding a breath and letting it out. Each one pushed a wave of anxiety out until he could feel, could think.  
Footsteps approached and Jack spoke in a soft, almost fatherly way. “Torbjorn checked out the elevators. Everything is as it should be.” 

Words once more gathered on the tip of his tongue and thrashed against his clenched teeth.  _ No! That’s not it! I’m not afraid of the elevator, I have never been! _

But he could only nod and take solace in the comfort of Jesse’s hand in his, their fingers laced together. Even if his cheeks and ears burned with shame, he stood tall and faced the world. There was only Jack and Angela, both of whom showed open concern.

“It is all right, Hanzo. Missions can bring undue stress.” Angela’s concern weighed heavily on each word. Chafed by it, Hanzo only nodded again. “If you are better, let us get to the briefing room so that this can be over with quickly.”

“Ain’t no way he can rest now?” Jesse asked and it was the last of what Hanzo’s pride could bear.

Voice rough, he grumbled, “No. I am---”

“Don’t say fine.” Jack interrupted. Once more, Hanzo clamped down his words, though he shot their unsaid meaning in a glare to the older man. That only earned him a small smirk, “There’s the fire. All right, Shimada. Let’s get going.”

The fire… It was hard to understand the old soldier, but truly he meant well. The fatherly, caring tone had been a surprise but watching him take the point and lead the three to trail behind, it seemed to fit. A deposed leader, but one that kept the mantle steadily on tired shoulders. 

The elevator was, thankfully, normal. No voices or weird lighting or metal tombs. Just a simple industrial elevator that moved like a hot knife through butter. What was surprising, however, was the buttons. Hanzo had expected perhaps two or three levels, but the star beside their floor was labeled ‘B’. There were three above it, and then three below. From ‘1’ at the top to ‘E’ at the bottom. Seven floors in all. 

“This is quite the large ship,” He commented softly, inclining his head to the panel.

“Yep. Blackfish was meant t’be all-encompassing. Top three floors,” Jesse pointed to the buttons, “are housing, cafeteria, recreation, and command. Then the bottom three are medical, training, holding cells, and engine room.”

“Are you excited to be here again?” Hanzo watched Jesse from his peripheral. The man frowned, staring at the buttons as if they would divine the correct answer for him.

“No…” Jesse said softly, “But yes. It’s… Different. I know this place like I know Deadlock Gorge, and just like that place is, Blackfish is as much home as it ain’t.”

“I understand, Hanamura is much the same.” He looked fully to his partner, his lover, and gave a worn out, but sincere smile. It was mirrored on Jesse’s face.

“Yeah, I betcha do.”

“All right, lovebirds.” Jack broke their moment right as the elevator stopped moving. The doors opened in another hall. There were definitely rooms on either side, but they were much larger and further spaced apart. There was also a few seating areas, or at least seating spattered here and there. They walked from the elevator straight ahead, to where the area ended in a solid metal wall. A large, pneumatic door hissed open, showing another, smaller holding area. A few chairs and tables with seats were here, but it was much more formal. The room was narrowing, as they were approaching one of the points of the ship. One final door was passed and then they were there, at the control center of Blackfish.

The command deck was split into two parts. The upper part included a large circular table made out of what Hanzo could only guess was projection glass for holograms. Other than that, the end of the upper deck was guarded by a simple rail along with one long monitor. On either side of the upper level, stairs and a curving walkway led down to the lower, where banks and rows of equipment flanked the walls. Most had chairs pushed close to each of them.

Sitting at the table were Winston, Ana, Torbjorn, and Reinhardt. Jack moved to sit beside Winston and Angela kept near the two of them, guiding them to the opposite side of the table. If not for the piles of medical supplies, food, water, and other necessities near them, it would have felt too much like a job interview.

Winston shifted carefully and cleared his throat against his massive fist. The gorilla gave them both a fond smile, “It’s good to have you back. When you went, uh, dark for a few days we all feared the worst.”

“Good to be back, big guy.” Jesse smiled and took off his hat, sitting it on the table. Hanzo got comfortable in his chair and glanced at each member, taking in their body language. Everyone seemed nervous but generally relaxed. Whatever was happening was most likely not because of them. That was a relief.

“This isn’t usual protocol, as I am sure  _ Jack _ told you.” Ana spoke next, giving her contemporary a sly smile. Jack only grumbled under his breath at the tease, “But we are strapped for time. The situation developing looks dire.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hanzo couldn’t help but frown, “Are we going to be clued in on this situation?”

“It would be better to get your story first and then tell you,” was the quick reply from Ana. He couldn’t argue with her, knowing that any sort of external information might skew what they reported one way or the other. Emphasis could be just as damning as glossing over facts. 

They began to tell their story together. How it started after their last check-in outside the Wasteland zone. The rental car, the breakdown, finding John and riding to his home. They beat out corners of their narratives, weaving one long winding tale of being lost and confused together, of relying on themselves and the trust they built.

It only differentiated near the end.

“So… This attack in Blackwater and McCree being snatched is when your stories change.” Winston sipped on a cup of water. They each had meals and drinks in front of them, a fact that made this feel less like a formal debrief and a chat with friends. Or it would, if not for the persistent typing of both Ana and Reinhardt as they collected the data. Jack and Winston were working through the information, asking pertinent questions, while Mercy was still running tests on them and giving them drinks. 

Jesse nodded, “Unfortunately, I don’t remember much. There was some sort of loud yell and then Deadeye stopped workin’. After that, I was snatched up and then kept in a haze.”

Jack hummed as he scratched his chin, “Do you remember what it was that was shouted?”

“Unfortunately no. Hanzo?”

Sighing softly, he shook his head, “Likewise, I do not recall.”

As much as he tried to be firm when leading debriefs, Winston still had a tendency to pause and pepper his sentences with ‘uhms’ and ‘ahs’. At first Hanzo found it annoying, but now it was endearing. “That’s fine, Mr. Shimada. So uhm… What happened after that?”

Explaining the next part was harder. Chasing te vehicle and the desperation of knowing he had lost sight of it came rushing back to Hanzo full force. Blessedly, he was only stopped for clarification during the situation with the CB.

“Hold on,” Jack raised a hand, a critical frown creasing his brow, “You’re telling me this man said some woman with purple hair sold him the CB radio?”

Arching a brow, Hanzo shrugged one shoulder, “That is what he said, yes.”

“Do you have something, Jack?” Ana asked, looking up from where she was typing.

“Not yet, but maybe. Keep going Shimada.”

“Of course. I contacted John. In the morning, he came and we both rode out to the Deadlock base.”

The next interruption came from Jesse. The man sat up gestured at Hanzo, “Y’know, I’ve been meanin’ to ask you: How’d you know which Deadlock base I was in?”

Which Deadlock base? The question sat funny in Hanzo’s mind. He combed through every memory twice over: What he had told John, the wave of destruction left by the fleeing Deadlocks, and could only return to the same snippet of the conversation he had with Marston:

_ "Tell me where we're going." _

_ "Deadlock’s only got one place. Big complex. It'll be a bitch to infiltrate, but I'm hopin' these tools and your ninja trainin' will be enough to get us through." _

“John had said there was only one Deadlock hideout.”

Dread grew colder and heavier as Jesse stared at him. It finally snapped when his partner shook his head slowly, “No. That ain’t right. Deadlock has got bunches of bases sprinkled everywhere.”

Cold chills rolled over Hanzo. Grabbing his drink from the table, he took a few sips but found that did nothing to soothe the goosebumps of anxiety making his skin crawl.

“What else did Marston say?”

_ "How do you know about my training?" _

_ "Hanzo, you got a bounty just like Jesse. I'm a damn Sheriff, I got connections and intel. Might be off the board for a while, but I still know shit. Knew it from the moment you told me who ya were. Knew what ya did....” _

_ “We all do what we have to survive. Sometimes, it ain’t pretty. I was there too, ya know. Been there a few times. Choosin’ between loyalty and morals. Ain’t ever easy. In the end, we pay the price for what we did.” _

_ “How have you paid off your price?”  _

_ “Way I figure it, I’m payin’ it back by rounding up the rest of the gang. That, and I’m a Sheriff. I keep dangerous folk out of the world, make it a safer place.” _

 

_ “In the end, we pay the price for what we did.” _

 

Hanzo slammed his eyes shut as he hissed sharply, a string of harsh curses flowing from his lips.  _ I’ve been a fool. An absolute idiot. _

“Shimada? What’s the matter?”

“John set us up.”

Jesse jerked as if physically struck, “What?”

“At the start, Shimada,” Jack reminded them, taking control of the situation, “What did he say.”

“Of course, my apologies. John knew of my training and of my history with Genji. He made allusions between doing what's morally or loyally right, and of paying the price for our actions.” His stomach churned, threatening to evacuate the drink he had been sipping. “He said he was paying his off by keeping dangerous folk out of the world and making it safer.”

A thick, oppressive silence weighed upon the table, each member staring somewhere but at one another. Hearing them now, it felt so damning, so obvious. How had he been so blind?

No. He really couldn't ask that question. He knew why he had been so blind. The man sat right beside him.

“What happened then?” Winston instructed with a gentle tone, though it did nothing to settle Hanzo’s nerves.

“I went alone into a mineshaft that was the entrance to the Deadlock hold.”

“Did John send you in alone?”

“No. I… Told John to leave if I did not return within an hour.”

Winston grunted softly and arranged his glasses once more, “What was the entrance like?”

“Dark. There was no sign of activity outside or inside the mineshaft. It looked… Abandoned. But there were weapons outside, as well as the vehicle used to kidnap McCree. It felt like it had to be the correct area.

“It took some navigating, but eventually I found a side tunnel that was metal. I was sealed in after that with only an elevator to go to.”

Jack let out an explosive sigh and slumped back in his seat. A deep, angry furrow creased his brow, punctuated by how the old man pinched the bridge of his nose, “You’re not an idiot, Shimada. Clearly, you could see the signs.”

“Yes,” Hanzo admitted softly. Suddenly, the cup of electrolyte water was terribly interesting, more so than looking at his comrades. “I was aware that I was walking into a trap.”

“Explain yourself,” Jack ground out. In Hanzo’s peripheral, he could see Jesse stiffen and sit up straighter.

“McCree was my only ally. He had been kidnapped and I felt it necessary to extract him no matter the cost.”

“Please,” Winston interjected next, not allowing Jack to have the floor, “Continue from there, Hanzo.”

Debriefing had never been fun, but detailing the elevator ride, the sounds of Jesse’s torture, and then the taunting messages were agonizingly hard. Especially when he came to Talon’s offer. His voice faltered and died, and only through sheer force of will did he keep from curling in on himself as he spoke.

Winston shifted awkwardly, “I… uh… I apologize Mr. Shimada, but it might be best if you tell us what they threatened you with.”

“They would force me to give birth and train subsequent children in controlling the dragons.”

Cries of alarm and disgust colored the air from each member of the table. Truthfully, Hanzo wasn’t sure how they would react. A small, dark part of himself feared they might even consider it a viable option for their own cause.  _ Ridiculous. They are the ‘good guys’ as Lena says. _

Once it calmed, Hanzo continued - from releasing the dragons to finding Jesse and learning he had no pulse.

“I was dead?” Came the soft, stunned question from his left side.

“Yes. You had no pulse and I was unsure what caused it. With no defibrillator, I channeled the dragons to shock you.”

The screech of a chair cut Hanzo’s words off sharply as if it had been the slice of a sword. Typically level-headed, their doctor stood tall, her cheeks flushed red in anger. Angela pointed an accusing finger at Hanzo, “Have you lost your mind?”

“It was the best I could do. Should I have just left him for dead?”

Three times she opened her mouth to speak, but each time it closed empty. It was almost as if every moment let out a burst of her anger, as slowly Angela calmed until she was sitting once more.

Small blessings came when the rest of the story could be told without interruption, Jesse now joining in on the retelling. By the end of it, Hanzo felt exhausted, wrung dry from retracing every moment of the past few days. It felt like months, but only hours had truly passed. 

Winston shifted and sighed deeply, a troubled look darkening his eyes, “So Deadlock and Talon are working together, or… Might be one and the same. To complicate matters, it sounds as if Talon is behind this omnic event. Furthermore, our one contact John Marston sounds like he is working for them. This situation has gotten worse.”

“Now,” Jesse nodded to Winston, “you said once we finished talkin’ you’d tell us about what’s happening and why this situation is so bad.”

“Of course. Athena?” 

There was a pause, and then the monitor near the one that sat between the railings of the upper level flickered on to the AIs signature blue background. “Yes, Winston?”

“Could you please turn on a local news broadcast?”

“Of course.”

There was a shuffling pause as they waited. For what, Hanzo was unsure.

But he could definitely say, he had not expected to see what appeared to be a riot.

One of the monitors buzzed to life with an explosion of noise - people shouting, chanting, and waving signs of protest.

> _ “Protests continue tonight here at West Elizabeth over the internment of hundreds, if not thousands, of Omnics. These omnics have come from what many are calling the ‘Red Dead’ zone - an area shown here,” _ A map appeared on the screen. Hanzo had been unclear where they were before, but seeing it spread between the southern part of Arizona and Texas settled the area firmly in his mind,  _ “Because of a leaked governmental map blotting the area in red. It is unclear how long the citizens there have been in a media blackout, with controlled borders and finicky electricity. Further unclear is how long the Government intended on keeping this all a secret. _
> 
> _ “They say that rogue omnic activity in the area prompted them to ‘strongly urge’ Omnics in the Red Dead zone to seek shelter in government housing. Housing meant to ‘keep them safe’. Many, including the protestors, say that this is an infringement on Omnic rights. The incident has sparked a revival of protests across the nation. _
> 
> _ “Further complicating the issue are leaks of body cam and surveillance video showing Omnics being forced, pushed, shoved, and harassed into government vehicles. All these leaks have come from the hacker group known as SOMBRA. _
> 
> _ “Tonight, protests and counter-protests continue, but polls done by Gallup show that 80% of Americans believe the internment is wrong and unconstitutional.” _

“Thank you, Athena. That’s enough.” Winston nodded to a screen. It went dark, and the silence that followed filled Hanzo uneasily. It sloshed inside of him, twisting and turning, poking holes and questions asked and unanswered.

John’s response in particular -  _ “Don’t rightly know. Once all this started they were just… Gone. Folks say they were evacuated out of the area, on account of the faulty electricity.” _

Had that been a lie? If John was working for Talon, did he know the answer from the get go and just lied to them to smooth things over? So much of what happened looked bleak in hindsight. The trip to Mexico had been thwarted by Omnics - had that been John too? All evidence pointed to yes. They had been pushed back from the border by force in order to be captured later on and… And what?

Hanzo gulped and rubbed his eyes. There was only one reason Talon would want to capture them alive. The Widowmaker… Brainwashed killers. The thought of being turned into a puppet once more and made to kill his brother sent cold terror crackling down his limbs.

“So…” Jesse whispered, “We’ve been played this whole time, huh? Talon’s making a final push to start off this Omnic war they’ve wanted.”

“That is what it appears to be. Everyone who is a currently active agent is with us.” Defeat hung heavy on Jack’s words, “We’ve gotten drones out and it appears most of the Talon Omnics are moving to this town.” A map appeared on the screen that had once held the news broadcast. Arrows from three sides seemed to be converging onto one central dot.

“Armadillo.” The words fell from Jesse’s mouth with the weight of a judges gavel. 

“It appears,” Winston added, “that they intend to wipe out the town with the force they’re sending. It will be crucial to stop them, not only for the citizen's sake but also for the safety of those omnics that had been placed in internment camps by the government.”

Words buzzed helplessly around Hanzo’s brain like angry wasps. Scrubbing his face with one of his hands, he forced himself to sit up straight. It had been a few days, but the dragon facade slipped on easily enough. It didn’t seem to fit perfectly any longer, which Hanzo could only hope meant he had mentally changed. For now, it kept him contained and professional. “What is the plan?”

“Jesse needs to get a more thorough examination,” Angela chimed in quickly.

“Right,” Winston took lead again. Despite the revelations and the weight they had laid on every Overwatch member, the gorilla found a brave, toothy-fang smile to beam at them, “First we rest, and then we do what we came together to do: Be heroes. That town needs us, as do the Omnics. If we stop Talon in Armadillo, we might be able to stop this from having a catastrophic effect.”

Hesitantly, they all nodded. It was a long shot, but it was their only one.

“Meeting dismissed. Agent Shimada, I’ll have Lena, er, Agent Oxton to lead you to your quarters for the evening. Please rest as much as you can.”

They left then, all shuffling from the main bridge in ones of twos. Outside the second set of doors, he found Tracer standing at the ready, her smile much too bright for the dark topics discussed.

“Oi, what’s with the long face?”

“Debriefing.”

Humming sympathetically, she patted his shoulder. “Never fun, is it? Well, let’s go! You’re going to love the rooms.”

It turned out crew quarters was on the second floor, one below the command floor. Lena continued to be a beam of sunshine despite the way Hanzo was clearly having none of it. He knew it was simply her way of trying to relieve stress. Genji had been similar in his youth. Age had faded his irritation, age, and perhaps the understanding that without the brilliance people like Lena or Genji offered, the world's darkness would be all-encompassing.

“Here we are.” Lost in thought, he didn’t notice they had stopped in front of a door until Lena spoke. It looked similar to the ones on Overwatch’s Gibraltar base, with the holo-pad set to the side. Tracer pressed it once, causing it to flash green and open the door.

Unlike the other base, these rooms were large - a queen bed, even a seating area, and an ensuite if the extra door in the back was to go by. Surprised, Hanzo stepped in and looked around.

“Nice isn’t it? There are loads of things we haven’t had a chance to unlock yet. Hopefully, Jes will know how to get this thing fully running.”

Hanzo took a seat on the bed and sighed in relief. It was plush and comfortable and promised a good night of sleep.

“I’ll tell Jes which room you’re in,” Lena offered, but Hanzo could only grunt softly in response. Giggling, he heard, more than saw, the door closed. Toppling back onto the covers, Hanzo closed his eyes and was almost instantly asleep.

He was awoken sometime later by a crackling sound and then a very familiar voice.

_ “Evenin’ folks, this is your Captain Jesse McCree.” _ Snorting softly, Hanzo rolled over onto his side and threw an arm over his head to block his ear,  _ “I’d like t’welcome you to the S.S. Blackfish. As of now, all functions of the Blackfish are up and runnin’. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna pass the fuck out.” _

There was another crackle as the intercom ended, but Hanzo could barely hear it over his laughter. Knowing sleep would be impossible, he climbed from bed and opened his closet.

To his surprise, he had clothing inside; most likely from Genji. Smiling, Hanzo took time to undress himself an get into something more comfortable. In truth, he stripped bare naked and slipped on a silk robe, tying it loosely around his waist.

By the time he was done with that and brushing his teeth and hair, there was a knock on his bedroom door. Shuffling over, Hanzo found himself face to face with Jesse.

“Howdy, Mr. Shimada.” The man was leaned up against the door with one elbow. He used his other hand to tip his hat in greeting, “Betcha didn’t know this, but the Captain can sleep wherever he wants.”

Cocking an eyebrow, he barely bit back a smile as he quipped back, “Is that so? Then I am sure the Captain will enjoy the doghouse.”

“Wha--?” Jesse stood up, almost deflating with shock, “What did I do sugar?”

Now that he’d had some rest, Hanzo’s mood improved dramatically. Grabbing the front of Jesse’s shirt, he pulled him inside the door and tight to his body. Pressing on tiptoes, he pressed their lips together.

Very carefully arms wrapped around Hanzo’s back. Two large palms spread warmth across his skin, keeping him safe and cradled.  
Leaning down, Hanzo smiled up at his love. “Your heart?”

“Right as rain. Lil bit o’ nanites and I’m fine.” What a relief. Hanzo sighed deeply and pillowed his cheek on Jesse’s chest. Behind them, the door hissed closed, the light in the room dampening to soft nighttime blues and purples.

“Let’s get some sleep honey.” Carefully, Hanzo was walked backward until he felt his legs touch the back of the bed. They parted them so Hanzo could climb in. McCree disrobed and crawled under the covers with him. In Jesse’s arms, he slipped back to sleep.

There was still so much for them to go through, and so many unknowns looming in the distance, but for that moment they could rest. 

Hanzo dreamed of catching falling stars, of putting them into a basket and carrying them to a little cottage. He ground them up and spun the dust into thread, and that thread into a blanket. A blanket he wrapped around himself like armor. 

In bed, he smiled and snuggled a little closer to Jesse.


	19. Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence

There were rhythms to the world, especially before missions. Jesse parted from Hanzo, whispers, and promises exchanged between kisses as he left. Some would pray and others would find time to reflect. Some would train and others would relax and laugh away the moments. Hanzo was planning on doing something specific with his dragons, a secret. It involved Jesse, he knew that.

Jesse though had a specific routine. It started with Peacekeeper, disassembling her and cleaning and oiling each part, then putting it all back together. It was a familiar process, so intimate it left him in peace. He took time to ensure the flashbangs and other necessities were right, and then Jesse went to the roof.

Well, as close to the roof as he could get. More like the far side of the ship, on a closed in observation deck. Pulling out a cigarillo, he lit up and took a few longing puffs. For the most part, it was silent; he was left alone to prepare.

Besides one guest, that was.

He came quietly and took a seat beside Jesse. There was no smoke in his hand, no gun or cup or any other vice. Just an old man, a tired soldier who watched the desert outside their ship heat up.

“Overwatch didn’t allow for relationships,” Jack murmured, hardly louder than the whir of recirculating air or the soft hush of smoke leaving Jesse’s mouth in slow pulls. “It made us vulnerable, all of us. You could become compromised.”

“Yep.” 

Jack turned to him and frowned, “Hanzo is compromised.”

And so went the relaxation. Sighing, Jesse pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and pinched his eyes shut, “Yeah, and? What do you want me t’do about it, Jack? Ain’t I already compromised?”

The silence stung harsher than words. He knew the message there, the one that lurked around every corner. It was the reason that added all those extra zeros to his bounty.

_ You’re ex-Blackwatch, _ it said.  _ You’re dangerous. You’re always compromised. Look at how many of your old comrades are on the other side. Why aren’t you? You were Gabriel’s, second-hand man. What didn’t he tell you? _

_ What did he save you from? _

“This isn’t Overwatch anymore.” Jack stood as he spoke. To Jesse, it seemed as if the man was smaller somehow. In all the posters he was so large and imposing - a glorious, golden blue statue to look towards. He was a beacon of hope and resolution. Now, he was tarnished, the paint peeled away. He was old and the weight that hung from his shoulders didn’t really seem to change from those old glory days.

“I’ll leave you to your smoke, but just tell me something first.” Jack didn’t bother to look at him. He stared straight ahead. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows and made the white of his hair glow. For a moment, a blink of the eye, the golden tint was back in his hair, the blue of his jacket just a little bit brighter, his face a little less aged. “What was the passcode you used to get Blackfish running?”

Clouds climbed across the sky, casting shadows on the ground below them. They drifted lazily by, like pieces of the past. For moments they shadowed the world but then were gone. Jack was old once more, but the shadow of something bigger loomed. 

Compromised. 

“It was 07152020.”

Scoffing, the old soldier left him be. McCree slumped down in his seat and snuffed out the cigar before putting it in its metal case. Closing his eyes, he savored the mellow tones and let the smell calm the storm raging in his mind. A storm of worry and doubt. 

Compromised.

07152020.

The day Jack was born.

Overwatch didn’t allow you to have relationships, but that didn’t stop folks. Even if one stood in the shadows and one glowed like the sun.

 

\---

 

Three Orcas left the Blackfish, carrying the crew to Operation: Armadillo. Winston remained behind for defense of the ship, despite Jesse reassuring him that when locked down it would be nearly impossible to get into. In the end, it might have been for the best - the publicity their stunt could draw would narrow in on Winston and make his life more difficult.

No one knew what they were walking into. So far, it seemed Armadillo was untouched, but the drone footage was spotty and unreliable. It was unclear if even the citizens of the town knew the danger they were in. They were going in blind. 

Despite knowing where the omnics were coming from, and indeed knowing the omnics were coming, none could be seen from the Orca. Not visually, not by sonar, and not from infrared. Nothing.

“I’ve got visual on Armadillo!” Tracer called over the coms, “It appears they’re… Making sandbag barriers?”

So it was with relief and perhaps an ounce of trepidation that when the three ships touched down and the panels opened, they could hear a mix of yelling, cheers, and the hubbub of life.

“All right boys! Showtime!” Tracer zipped out first and with the way forged, the others followed in ones and twos. Hanzo and Jesse were among the last to disembark, sticking close together. There weren’t too many sniper positions in Armadillo, thank the Lord, but there were enough that it made Jesse’s skin crawl.

Tracer was well into a spiel with a group of townsfolk by the time they approached.

“--- dangerous. We’re here to offer assistance, protection, and fighting power!”

One of the men looked over the group, though his eyes stopped on Jesse. “Hey! Ain’t you the fella that was hangin’ ‘round Sheriff Marston?”

The other agents parted so Jesse could approach. Tracer wilted slightly, a dejected pout on her lips from being ignored. Jesse tilted his hat in greeting, “Sure am. Is John around?”

“Somewhere. If you’re with these folks I guess you’re alright.” Nodding once, the man turned and pulled his hat off, waving it in the air, “Hey! We got help! These folks are gonna start workin’.”

Cheers exploded, carrying into the dust. Jesse couldn’t help but smile. This was the part of Overwatch that Blackwatch never got to experience. The simple joy of  _ helping _ others was a rare luxury. The volume of happiness swept through him like a burst of sunshine, warming every part. It felt  _ good _ .

“All right! Y’all know what you’re doin’. Let’s go!” Jesse pumped a fist in the air and to his surprise, the agents followed the rallying cry, throwing their voices into the cheer. Even Tracer. The last time Jesse had lead anything other than a small squad had been Blackwatch. Back then you didn’t cheer, you didn’t announce yourself.

In many ways, the moment to smile at his fellow agents, to see their smiles, did more good for his soul than an ounce of nanite cream ever could. 

His moment was broken when a shoulder bumped hard into his own. Chuckling, he shot a playful grin to Hanzo, who mirrored it. “I think we have a cowboy to catch, Mr. McCree.”

“Wellll…” Pushing up the brim up his hat with his metal thumb, Jesse jutted his jaw and let his twang color every word, “I reckon we do, darlin’.”

The plan was rather elaborate, but for the two of them, it was simple enough. They were to search every building and possible sniper perch for John. Seeing as Armadillo had only a few streets, and most of those streets were filled with one or two story homes, the search was not entirely difficult. Each house they cleared was marked off on a map and communicated back to the central hub.

This part of any mission was familiar. Clearing rooms and houses, checking for danger, for a bullet that could send him to his maker. He knew this well enough that the fear was no more than dirt below his boots. Jesse wasn’t afraid for himself, but for the man behind him.

Compromised.

“Something is bothering you.” They were halfway done when Hanzo spoke. Jesse looked up from where he had been peeking over a roof into an alley. The doctor’s office offered a decent perch, but there was no one there. No Marston. Not even a sign of Marston. The only markings here were bird droppings, and other than the risk of one hot and fresh landing in his hair, there was no danger.

Shrugging, Jesse tried to brush it off, “Just mission stress, sweetheart.” He turned to walk away, but a hand caught his own.

It was just a hand, but it anchored him there, keeping him from moving further away.

“Jesse, it’s distracting you.”

Compromised.

Frowning, he turned and bit back an angry retort. “How you figure that?”

Carefully, Hanzo spoke, as if each word had been turned and inspect before setting it down in front of Jesse, “You have not reported a finding for the last three buildings.”

“What? That’s…” But hadn’t he? He’d been talking. He’d been saying out loud things, but he…

Jesse’s hand felt to his belt, where the com hung heavy, heavier by the guilt he felt. It clogged his throat. He dropped his gaze to the floor, no longer wanting it, and especially not wanting it on Hanzo’s concern. “Fuck.”

“I cannot have you distracted, Jesse.” Hanzo stepped closer. A calloused hand, so different than him own with long fingers, cupped his cheek. It gathered his gaze and turned it back to Hanzo. “What’s wrong?”

Compromised.

“I’m… Compromised.” Surprisingly, the world didn’t fall apart after uttering that. Hanzo arched a brow as if to prompt more, but there was nothing else. Just the simple statement.

Sighing through his nose, Hanzo pressed on, “How?”

“This… Us… I... I’m scared of losing you and that’ll make me do dumb shit.”

The hand pulled away and cold invaded where the warmth had spread. But it was replaced when two arms wrapped around Jesse and pulled him inwards. 

“You care for others, do you not? Angela, Ana, Jack… All of them. And they care for you. Do they compromise you? Are they compromised by you?”

“No, I don’t think so, but…”

“But nothing.” Pulling back, Hanzo held his face with both hands. A serious, stern look spread across the archer’s gaze, “I spent years upon years cutting out the ties that made me  _ compromised _ . Do you know what that left me with?

“Nothing. I was hollow and lonely. It is human to love and to care. Soldiers care for one another all the time. My actions were… erratic, but I would do them all over for you. For any of my teammates.”

Blackwatch had been a place of darkness where right and wrong didn’t blur as often as you’d think. Dealing with right or wrong meant your rules were stricter, especially when death came into play. Because a punishment could be overturned, but death? There was no going back.

If Overwatch discouraged relationships, Blackwatch forbid them. Unlike the media reports that showed the organization as lax in structure, it was regimented and strict. He knew more than one soldier that was demoted or completely kicked from the program for fraternizing with another Agent.

There were friendships, certainly, but even then there was a limit. To survive, a hard heart was needed. A heart that could turn from a fallen comrade and run, for the sake of a mission. A heart beaten into submission and wrangled so it could be turned off and on as needed.

But Jesse McCree wasn’t Blackwatch anymore. He delivered justice on his own terms and kept his heart as free or as controlled as he damn well pleased. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. It burned away the cloud that had hung over him since that very morning. It lit a flame of hope and happiness in his companion's eyes. When their lips met, they blazed together. 

“I’m sorry for not bein’ my best.”

“Do not be. You are human… I hope.” Chuckling softly, Hanzo clapped him on the chest and pulled back. “Let’s knock out the rest of these houses cowboy.”

“Yessir, archer sir.”

It went faster now. With his head on straight, Jesse was moving faster and working more efficiently. The residences were cleared, then the businesses. There was just one place in town neither man had checked because, truly, it felt too obvious.

The Sheriff’s office was two floors, one being a basement. While it, like most buildings in town, kept the old west theme and looked like it was made of mud brick, the inside was still modern. The steel doors were electronically locked. Going through the front was a ridiculous idea, so instead Jesse lead them down the alley. A large side door stood out.

This was another electronically locked door, but it had been secured with a padlock.

“You can shoot that off, correct?” Hanzo whispered.

Snorting, Jesse couldn’t help but remember the first time he suggested that on a Blackwatch mission. Gabe had made sure that when they returned, Jesse learned just what could and couldn't shoot through a padlock or a deadbolt. Let alone… The danger of doing so often outweighed the need for access. Shrapnel from the blast could kill whoever fired at the lock.  _ “Only a shotgun, and even then I’m not that stupid, mijo.” _

“Nah, not strong enough. Besides, we’d be shred to pieces.”

Walking the rest of the perimeter proved fruitless. It was either walking through the front door or not entering at all.

They stood outside the entrance, weighing the dangers of entering when Hanzo slapped his forehead. “Of course. I forgot.” Jesse watched as he reached into the quiver on his back and brought out an arrow with a thicker tip on the end. Holding the shaft of the arrow, Hanzo tapped it a few times on his open hand. It briefly flashed blue and then Jesse understood. 

“Shit, forgot about those.”

“As did I.” Hanzo held the arrow out from his body like a divining rod. Just like the time they were after Marjorie, Hanzo’s eyes glowed blue. 

“Three people are inside. Two adults and a child. If I had to guess… It is Marston and his family.”

“His  _ family _ ?” Now that made no sense. Frowning, Jesse stared back at the door and chewed on the cigarillo in his mouth. It was unlit, but the action was familiar and soothing. “Don’t make a lick of sense.”

“You’re right.” Sighing, Hanzo slid the arrow back into his quiver. The blue washed away from his eyes, leaving them the rich chestnut brown Jesse loved. “Marston doesn’t seem like the type of man to put his family in danger.”

Would he fire upon them as soon as the door opened? Sighing softly, Jesse approached and grabbed one of the inset handles. Usually, power would make them open automatically, but seeing as they were without it he had to grunt and tug it open manually.

There was no quick way to open it, and since he hadn’t been shot, it seemed safe enough. Safer than the night they opened the door to the unknown, at the very least. Glancing to Hanzo, he stepped inside, his partner right on his heels.

Much like it had been days ago, there were two desks and a few cells. Marston sat at his Sheriff’s desk, staring at the top of it. In the back, sitting on two chairs, was a very worried looking Abby and Jack. Immediately anger flared in Jesse. This man had betrayed them, nearly gotten them both killed on multiple occasions, and now this? What was the ploy? What was the game?

“You’ve got a lot of explainin’ t’do, John, and I ain’t much in the mood for bullshit.” Jesse kept his hand on the butt of Peacekeeper. From his left the tight, dry sound of bowstring told him Hanzo was likewise prepared for trouble, “So how ‘bout you get with tellin’ the truth.”

“I’m sorry.” No. Jesse didn’t want sorries. He didn’t want an excuse. Anger flared in him, boiling his blood. 

“Don’t tell me ‘you’re sorry’ you son of a bitch.” Jesse took one step forward, but kept himself in check, “Tell me  _ why _ .”

John sighed. Exhaustion seemed to line each and every wrinkle on the man’s face. He finally looked up at them and shook his head, “They threatened to hurt Abby and Jack. Said if I helped them, they wouldn’t.”

Snorting, Jesse inclined his head to the two, “Sure don’t look like they’re hurt.”

“They…” Abby’s voice faltered. She carefully placed a hand on Jack’s back and guided him to standing. Jesse watched in mute horror as the boy drew his shirt up. Against his freckled, tan skin was a thick black band. In the center, a package of some sort sat with a blinking red light.

The next thing Jesse knew, there was the sound of a gun being cocked. John was standing, his pistol held out in front of him. “The only way to save them is for you or me to die. I’m sorry boys.”

Could he Deadeye in time? Panic pressed its fist into the center of Jesse’s chest.

“John, I can destroy those without anyone having to die.” Hanzo’s voice was a rock in the storm of worry. 

“No! They said that if they were tampered with they’d explode.”

“Who…?” Jesse’s voice broke off, the sentence fracturing with the black eye of the gun pointed at him. He swallowed down his fear and kept speaking, “Who told you that, John?”

“Don’t know their name. Abby was first. They got her when I was working, a day before you were here. Said you’d be calling for help on a CB and to be ready, otherwise, they’d kill her.”

Many things were starting to make sense. The car CB seemed like eons ago, but it came back crystal clear. Had they been set up from the get go? Talon had its roots deeper than any of them had expected.

“And Jack?” Hanzo prompted softly.

“When you broke out. They came for him. I couldn’t…. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t  _ see. _ ” Marston looked furious, teeth bared, “Purple nonsense all over my arms left me crippled.”

Just like the attack in Blackwater.

“John, whoever is doing this has been attacking us too.”

Chuckling dryly, Marston bowed his head and sighed, “I tried to change. I gave it my all, but the past just keeps coming back. I ain’t ever gonna be free. I get that now. But… I can make sure Abby and Jack live.”

“Listen,” Hanzo pleaded, “We trusted you. I followed you into a trap. I believed you thoroughly, John. That is not something I ever do. I need you to trust me like we trusted you. We can save them.”

John’s gun moved from Jesse to Hanzo. Terror gripped him immediately, the irrational urge to shove Hanzo to the ground rising ever higher.

“What was your price, Hanzo Shimada?”

What? Confused, he glanced at Hanzo. The man was still stern, expression set in stony acceptance.

“I have paid in many ways. Loss of faith. Ten years alone repenting a death that did not happen. Working with Overwatch, taking the actions to make the world safer. But in truth, I can never fully repent. I can never be truly forgiven.”

Slowly, John lowered the gun. “All right.”

Whatever had been shared between them was something Jesse was not privy to. 

Hanzo gave him a slow nod and drew back an arrow, the bowstring quivering under his pull. Watching the dragons be summoned was something powerful and unspeakable. Blue rushed from the edge of the arrow, spiraling out as it was launched from his bow. With it the scent of ozone crackled in the air, of fresh earth pouring from the very sky. Hairs raised as the static pulsed in the area, snapping and crackling. To be hit with them as an enemy was devastation: Their power, heat, and electricity destroyed those that were caught in it. To be hit with them as a friend was something else entirely.

Like a fresh rush of energy, it rolled over the body and embraced it. He watched as Jack and Abby sagged in relief, as the sparks of energy gathered into the errant devices and shorted them out. Within seconds, the threat of danger was eliminated - Abby and Jack were going to be just fine.

“What in the -- How did you do that?”

Smirking, Hanzo rolled one of his shoulders slowly, “Years of training and mastery. The devices should be broken now.” And indeed, the red light was gone. Carefully, John cut the belts off each of them. 

Compromise.

“I’m so sorry.” John looked at them both, a steely resolve on his face, “You have me dead to rights. I misled you, harmed you, and nearly got you killed.”

“I…” Jesse faltered, unsure of how to handle the situation. In desperation, he looked to Hanzo.

“We… Make the choice between morally right or what is right for our loyalties. Your family was in danger. I understand, John.” 

Nodding, their weapons were lowered, the tension over for the time being. Marston was the next to speak, “You know this is going to be a ---”

But before he could continue a siren blared. Gabriel's’ horn before the end of times. Running a hand through his hair, Jesse nodded once, “Sure do, but we aim to defend this place. C’mon, there’s shelter for women and children.”

Outside, the main drag of town had changed. Large swaths of roads and intersections were guarded by sandbags, iron rebar, and hardlight shields. Cerulean blue translucent barriers seemed to be everywhere, but especially in the middle of the street. As they approached the shell of sandbags and hardlight, Jesse realized what it was.

“Hiya!” Mei called and waved them closer. 

It was a command center. 

Symmetra was looking over multiple tablets, each giving a specific feed of some turret placed in the world. Torbjorn had something strikingly similar, his feeds monitoring the track of turrets placed along the perimeters. Only Mei was without a tablet. 

“Nifty setup. How’s it looking?”

“Aye, the first wave of those walking buckets of bolts are heading in now.” After a few presses, Torb’s tablet showed the feed of a turret. The omnics there were not unlike the type they had fought - OR15s with elongated bodies, on top of which Nulltroopers rode, their singular red LED ‘eye’ peering into the darkening sky. New were swarms of smaller omnics - their bodies were likewise elongated and almost falling apart. On top of their bodies were small buds that looked suspiciously like a speaker.

“Are those… Slicers?”

“We believe so, but why they have these I am unsure.” Symmetra isolated a frame of the camera feed and expanded the image, focusing in on the speaker.

As if to answer that question, the warbling, crackling howls of some  _ creature _ filled the air. Every hair on the back of Jesse’s neck stood on end as he stopped breathing. It seemed everyone stopped breathing, stopped moving. With one end, another would start. None had the same pitch and the dissonance of their screeches was almost as bad as the screech itself.

“What the fuck is that?” Hanzo cursed sharply, looking to John. The man appeared just as lost as the rest of them. 

“Never heard it in my life.”

It clicked then for Jesse, “They’re fuckin’ coyotes. They modified them to be  _ coyotes. _ ”

There was another crackle before a booming voice declared, “What’s with all this waiting around? Here they come! At your ready!”

Most battles didn’t have orderly starts. The shooting just happened and that lit the whole powderkeg of trouble. This time, they were waiting and ready. When the streams of Slicers crested the hills and scurried out of arroyos, their shrill cries were the first shots fired.

Their group was broken into teams. Reinhardt, Brigitte, Hanzo, and McCree were on one team. Another set was Genji, Tracer, Zarya, Hana, and Lucio. The third set was Angela, Fareeha, Jack, and Orisa. Each had been broken into their specialties - Team one for stationary or all in attacks. Team two for almost constant movement. Team three for their adaptability.

John, Hanzo, and Jesse ran from the center towards where Rein was posted in the eastern part of town. Unsurprisingly, well before they reached the two heroes, the could spot the sparking bodies of destroyed Slicers flying through the air like shooting stars.

With a quick side step, Brigitte’s whip-flail flicked another Slicer out of the way and into the sky. Seeing an opportunity, Jesse drew his pistol and shot at the flying omnic. It caught the side of the sparking body, sending the creature spinning rapidly in the air before slamming into the ground.

“There you are, and you brought a friend!” Jesse couldn’t help but smile, Rein’s cheerful force picking up his mood despite the dangerous surroundings. They all fell into a rhythm. Hanzo turned on heel and bolted towards a building, scaling it quickly. 

“How’s it look up there, sweetheart?” Jesse ducked behind Rein’s shield as a beam of energy sizzled the air, interrupted moments before it could connect with him.

“As one would expect.” A flurry of arrows rained from the roof of the building. Nulltrooper riders fell from their OR15 steeds and exploded. Even with the extra firing, Jesse still had his work cut out for him. Moving, rolling, reloading. Aiming, shooting, and waiting - the waiting was the worst. There were pockets of air, like getting your head above water, where you could gasp and realize just how dire of a situation they were in, but then it was back below the waves of movement.

“Y’know!” John shouted above the burst of fire from another Nulltrooper, “Jack told me that Leggy-ass person had a pal.”

“Is it time to be havin’ this conversation, Marston?” Jesse bellowed and sent a foot straight through a Slicer. It skittered to the side, the screeching call stuttering to a stop, not unlike how a dog would whimper. Fuck, he did not need guilt over kicking a  _ robot. _

“Well maybe! Pal and him would have a competition t’see who would kill the most orcs and I’m thinkin’... How about you and me?”

“Kill orcs?”

“No, smart ass - competition. How many of these you think we can take out?” Well, it wasn’t the worst idea Jesse had heard. As a matter of fact, it was just repetitive enough to give him something to focus on, other than the ache in his wrist or the drag of his muscles holding the revolver aloft.

“Good idea. Let’s do it.”

Jesse had never read the books, nor watched the movies, but he suspected the stakes were different than and now. Besides, the only one using a bow wasn’t participating, but that was fine. Calling out a nonsensical number and hearing one in return was almost like a heartbeat.

“Seventeen!”  _ You here? _

“Nineteen!”  _ I’m here. _

As the Slicers gave way to OR15s and riders, they too gave way to Eradicators. The large omnics were mostly skeletal looking, rusted and barely moving. Their rusted joints creaked and crunched forward, lurking ever closer. Their guns were functional. The energy beams they sent out could melt steel and instantly kill a man if hit in the right spot.

To add to the horror, fires had broken out. Flames and ash blotted the sky, making the battle a hazy affair hardly scene. The sound of bullets, or pulse grenades and shouting, of the whirring charge and blast of beams, cut through the fog. 

And then there were the stragglers. It happened out of the blue - a half buried omnic whirred to life, dragging itself from the sand. Through the openings between pipes and tubes, sand poured out. They were hardly functional, and not nearly as deadly as the others, but the inclusion was unnerving. One second a piece of the background was moving and coming at them, attacking them, trying to  _ kill _ them. 

As suddenly as it started…

… It stopped.

Other than the crackle of fire and the creaking of warped and warm metal, the world was silent. There was no more shrieking of Slicers or the clopping of OR15 hooves. Only panting and the exhaustion that clung to them all.

“Is that it?” Jesse grabbed his com and radioed in the question.

_ “Something… Horizon… Emerg…”  _ Winston’s voice crackled over the com, breaking up in bursts of static.

“Anyone get that?” A chorus of ‘No’ was the response. Damn it. Something on the Horizon?

“Anyone see something on the horizon?” Jesse called again, panic rising in his voice. Damn it. “And someone try to call Winston back.”

They only had to wait a few minutes. The first sign was the ground - It rumbled once ominously.

Seconds later, it happened again.

And again.

“There’s something approaching!” Ana called from her sniper’s nest, “I can’t make it out.”

Each second another rumble would happen, growing steadily stronger.

And then a sound that seemed to shake the very air around them, that seemed to grab the Earth and toss it around like an angry child shaking a doll house.

Deep, deeper than any sound had a right to be, crawled across the ground. It set off in Jesse a primal fear. “What in the…”

“Retreat!” The call came loud and clear over coms, Jack’s voice thin and strained, “We need to retreat. Armadillo is lost. That’s a Titan.”

_ A Titan. _

He’d never seen one active. They were still around in some places - Korea had one in the ocean, by all accounts. Gabe discussed them at length, the size and damage they could do. Not just from existing, but also from being destroyed.

“It’s approaching too fast! I don’t know if we can!” Symmetra’s shrill cry sent fear down his spine. Shuddering, Jesse looked up to the building where Hanzo was stationed, but it… Almost appeared as if he wasn’t --

“Jesse.”

“Ah! Shit…” Jesse jumped backward, caught off guard by how close Hanzo was. “Damn ninja training.”

“I have an idea!”

Rubbing his face slowly, Jesse let out an explosive sigh, “Honey, that’s wonderful, but we need to run.”

“There is no outrunning that thing. We must destroy it.”

“And  _ how _ do you presume we do that?” 

“Can you use Deadeye again?” Could he? Yeah, he probably could. It’d hurt like a bitch, but he was willing to go through with a little pain if it kept them alive.

“I don’t think Deadeye would be enough to take one of those down, however.” Jesse pointed out.

Snorting, Hanzo stook a step beside him. He wrapped his hand around Jesse’s flesh one, the maw of the dragon pointed towards the barrel of Peacekeeper. “Let us say that this… Came to me in a dream.”

“A dream, huh?”

Nodding, Hanzo looked back to the open horizon. The omnic was much closer now, each rumble stronger and stronger. “That’s right. No bullets or arrows necessary. Activate your Deadeye.”

Doing as instructed brought up the customary red skull points, six in total. One on each limb, one in the center, and one on the head.

But something new happened. Electricity, ozone, burned in the air and crackled up his arm. Each skull was curled around by two dragons chasing their tails.

“What…”

“I can’t see what you see, but the… My meditation guided me to this. On your mark, cowboy.”

Jesse wasn’t sure what he expected to happen. Maybe for lightning bolts to come out of the gun? That made more sense than what happened.

Energy rolled over him, through him, and out the barrel in the form of two, spiraling dragons. Jesse gasped, eyes wide, as he watched them split again, and then again. Each dragon branched from the main body and slammed into a point. The energy from them seemed to physically splash in a shower of blue particles as it entered the Titan.

_ “Titans were a death sentence. There wasn’t much that could take them down.” _ Gabe loved to wax poetic about them,  _ “And what could often left you just as dead.” _

Except for this time.

Rending the air was a cry of steel being pulled apart. Slowly, the Titan tottered and then fell backward.

_ “Duck!” _ was shouted across the coms. Jesse pulled Hanzo down to the ground. The shockwave of dust and the rumble that came from the giant machine crashing was like a bomb going off. After a few moments of the debris floating through the air, they were left in the still. Once more, only the crackling of fire and smoke.

This time, the cheer that went up remained there, whooped and hollered to the sky.

It was over.

Jesse stood and drew Hanzo into his arms, holding him close. They had survived and finally, after what felt like months, they were going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all!  
> Not covered here is the fact the US gov had an official apology and the omnics were released. Talon's plans were completely thwarted. I had originally wanted to do an epilogue, but I ran short on time.


End file.
